Justice
by InSilva
Summary: Set post-O11 and pre-O12, Rusty finds himself on the right side of the law for a change. Not that this means either he or Danny is safe. Warnings abound. Rated for violence and profanity. Complete.
1. Prologue

Justice by InSilva

Summary: Set post-O11 and pre-O12, Rusty finds himself on the right side of the law for a change. Not that this means either he or Danny is safe. Warnings abound. Rated for violence and profanity.

Disclaimer: just paddling in that there Ocean. I own no part of it.

A/N: probably as dark an opening as I've written. Sorry.

Prologue

* * *

The downside to dying, apart from the obvious, Danny reflected, was that you could never be sure that you'd told those people that mattered to you most all the things you'd left unsaid; that they knew everything you'd ever wanted to tell them; that they knew you completely.

Right now, he couldn't remember if he'd ever told Tess that he loved her best first thing in the morning; no makeup, her hair wild, her eyes sleepy and vulnerable.

He would have liked to tell Saul explicitly how much he felt he owed him, how much he loved him; for support, for what he'd learnt, for introductions…

And he definitely would have liked to make sure that Rusty knew he'd swiped the last packet of Oreos. Rusty without access to cookies was not a pretty sight.

He guessed he himself was somewhat less than pretty at the moment. What concerned him most was that he couldn't feel his feet. With an effort, he moved his head and looked up through the eye he could open. Nope, they were still there. He flipped back again and let out a little yelp as his ribs crunched. Surely the pain should be less raw by now. He supposed he should be grateful that he had at least stopped spitting blood. The blood hadn't come running down his face and through his hair for a while either but he couldn't work out whether that was a good thing or not.

Lethargy washed over him. It was a funny limbo-state: nerve-shredding anguish or the dull ache of couldn't-care-less tiredness. He had been fighting the lassitude because staying awake seemed important but he wasn't sure any longer exactly why.

Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard a noise. It seemed unlikely they were coming back to hurt him again…God, he hoped not. Tears started and he knew the logical and emotional parts of his brain were cross-wiring.

Before he slipped in to final unconsciousness, before his heart actually stopped, before he took his last breath, Danny worried about who would find him. He hoped, none too optimistically, it would be someone who didn't know him at all. He found himself hoping as well that Tess would forgive Rusty. And above all, that Rusty would forgive himself.

And then, the darkness came.

* * *

A/N: yes, you read rightly and sorry. That was one of the warnings.


	2. Summons

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: still paddling, own nothing.

A/N: for otherhawk: for reassurance, for encouragement, for listening to the randomness and most of all for getting it. Completely. Every time. Can't tell you how it makes me feel. Couldn't give you the prologue because that's just too bleak but the rest…well, I hope I do it justice.

Chapter One: Summons

_

* * *

_

One week earlier.

"All I'm saying is, you didn't need to worry about the walking stick. It would have taken care of itself." Rusty pushed open the doors to his hotel. _His _hotel. One year on and Danny could tell he still liked the sound of it.

"You didn't want me to point it out," Danny said. "You didn't want me to mention it."

Rusty shrugged. "I'm just saying it wasn't necessary."

They'd spent the previous four weeks in Little Rock. Danny had taken a sabbatical from his respectable life with Tess. She had let him come visiting with a single condition: he was not to be directly involved in anything illegal that might result in a sojourn in prison. Rusty, naturally, had something illegal in mind.

Danny had compromised. He had talked the plan through with Rusty and given his thoughts; he'd suggested how Rusty might acquire what he'd needed for the job; and he'd definitely waited outside while Rusty had gone in for the goods. Up until the point where he hadn't.

Rusty had been unexpectedly fierce about that. Something along the lines of "Don't put me in a position where I have to explain to Tess that something's happened to you". Danny had held up his hands in apology but they both knew he would do it again in a heartbeat, which had only made Rusty frown at him harder. Danny had just looked at him. It was his decision, after all. And after a while, Rusty had come round to his way of thinking.

Now, they were returning, tired and satisfied and richer. Danny didn't want the money and he was almost certain Rusty didn't have to worry for the moment. Although Rusty had never been good at hanging on to wealth: it was so easy for him to acquire more. No, the job hadn't been about the money. The job had been about working together; about being together; about being.

Rusty greeted the girl on reception with a smile. "Hey, Kirsty."

"Hello, Mr Ryan," she replied, a little giggly.

"Any messages?" Rusty asked.

"Nothing urgent, Mr Ryan. Here's your mail." She handed over a fistful of envelopes.

"Thanks, Kirsty," he said, cranking the smile up a notch and sending her scurrying away, blushing.

Danny's mouth twitched. They might get older but nothing really changed.

They ascended in the lift to Rusty's penthouse suite. Rusty made his way through the mail.

"Bill, bill, bill, bill," he intoned, putting the keys in the door.

"Don't you ever pay them?" Danny asked. "You don't have to move state now, you know."

Rusty shook his head at him.

"Seriously. I swear there was a couple of years where you travelled America simply to get out of paying your debts."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Me too, thanks," said Rusty, still working his way through the envelopes.

Danny sighed and did the necessary in the little kitchen.

"Did you really just buy a hotel so that you didn't need to worry about anything domestic ever again? Dry-cleaning, food on tap, room cleaned…"

"You're just jealous." Rusty unfolded and refolded a takeaway menu.

"Chinese?"

"Korean."

Danny picked up the two mugs of coffee and handed him one of them.

"I should think any takeaway worth its salt knows to get a copy of its menu to you."

"Fuck."

Startled, Danny looked over at Rusty who was frowning down at an official looking letter.

"IRS?"

"Worse." He looked at Danny with genuine shock and Danny started to think about medical tests and results and felt his scalp starting to crawl.

His voice filled with panicked incredulity, Rusty went on, "They've called me up for jury service."

Relief and mirth flooding through him, Danny laughed. He couldn't help it. Some things you just couldn't write.

"How did they find me?" Rusty exclaimed. "How did my name come up?"

"Well, face it, Rusty, you're semi-legal nowadays," Danny said, taking a mouthful of coffee.

"I'm not semi-legal," Rusty snapped, "I'm barely legal!"

There was an explosion of coffee, snorting and choking.

"Sorry," Danny managed, "went down the wrong way."

_Can we focus?_

Danny reached over and took the letter out of Rusty's hand. It was polite and to the point and informed Mr Ryan that his presence would be required on the 20th of the month ("Tomorrow!" Rusty interjected with disbelief) at the courthouse in the city ("Court, Danny. Tell them I'm allergic!") and that additional information would be provided on his arrival.

"Skip to the exemptions page," Rusty said hopefully, reading over Danny's shoulder.

"If you have a physical or mental impairment," Danny looked doubtfully at Rusty.

"I could-"

"You couldn't keep it up," Danny pointed out. He carried on reading. "'If serving would prove an extreme financial burden'."

"It would!" Rusty protested.

"Rusty, even with the millions they don't know about, you run a hotel. You are not a down and out."

"Alright," Rusty conceded grudgingly. "What else?"

"'If you have to take care of another person and there is no one else available to do it.'."

Rusty's eyes lit up but Danny quickly quashed that one.

"Oh, no, I am not being an invalid for you," he said firmly. He looked down at the paperwork. "You could always postpone," he suggested.

Rusty looked tempted and then sighed. "But if the summons comes another time when I'm not here…what's the penalty for a no show?"

"A fine. And possibly jail."

Rusty winced.

"Been there, done that," Danny said quietly. "Trust me, you don't want to try it."

He looked at Rusty who was rubbing his mouth furiously. "What are you going to do?"

"What can I do? If I don't show up…" He scowled at Danny. "This is one upside of being an ex-con."

"Why don't you explain that jury service would get in the way of your long-term plans to pull heists and steal money?"

"Oh, you're funny," Rusty fumed. He stared at the carpet. "What am I going to do?" He raised troubled eyes to Danny's. "I'm going to have to do it, aren't I?"

Danny looked sympathetic. "It says here that if you're not chosen for jury selection after one day at the courthouse then your service is done for at least one year," he said helpfully. "If you don't get chosen, then you can just come home."

The troubled look didn't leave Rusty's face. Danny stood up and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get through it. Like we always do."

He left Rusty standing in the middle of the room, undoubtedly contemplating burning down the courthouse to avoid the inevitable and pulled out his cell phone. Rusty became dimly aware of the one-sided conversation.

"Me. I do, too. I do. I said I do. Yes, he is. Nothing much. Just hanging. Yeah. And no washing or cleaning. I just pointed this out to him." Silence. "Tess…I'm going to be a little late home. No. No. No, listen to me, no, it's nothing like that. Really, it isn't, I swear. Tess, I swear-"

Rusty reached over and took the phone off him. "Tess? Me. It's OK. Listen, I've got to go and do something unpleasant and Danny's offering to stay and hold my hand." He looked at Danny. "He doesn't need to. I'm a big boy and he can come home to you."

Danny's brows drew down. _As if._

"It's OK, Tess," Rusty went on. "I can get through it myself. Really. Yeah, something like that. It's OK. I- Tess, it's OK, honestly." Silence. "She wants to talk to you."

He handed the phone back.

"Don't listen to him, Tess, he needs me- Tess, I need to be – well, yes. Exactly. Of course, he would. That's my point. Thank you." Danny looked at Rusty. "No, I won't leave him till it's over. I won't go anywhere." He held the phone out to Rusty. "She wants to speak to you again."

_So what, she thinks I've got a week to live?_

_Something like that._

Rusty took the phone and held it so they could both hear. Tess's voice came out tinnily. "He'll stay with you as long as you need him, Rusty. I know you'll keep him in one piece for me."

"Oh, he'll be fine," Rusty said with feeling.

"Danny?"

"Here, Tess."

"I'll see you when I do. I love you."

Rusty leaned in with a grin. "He loves you too, Tess."

"Bye, Tess," Danny rang off, irritation squalling through him.

"You could just tell her out loud. It's not the end of the world," Rusty grinned.

"No," Danny retorted. "That would be tomorrow at the courthouse."

And suddenly nothing seemed that funny anymore.


	3. Selection

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Danny – so not mine.

Chapter Two: Selection

* * *

Rusty looked at his reflection and sighed. He'd argued the pros and cons of disguise with Danny for most of the previous evening. Nothing too much, no prosthetics, no wigs. Something to hide behind, though. He'd silently and not-so-silently begged Danny for help deciding on the something. He hated to admit it but jury service was seriously freaking him out.

In the end, he'd dyed his hair mousy brown and found a pair of glasses with thick, black plastic frames and plain lenses. People would see the glasses. Their eyes would slide over the hair. They wouldn't see him. Danny had gone through his wardrobe and selected an anonymous suit that Rusty could not remember owning complete with plain shirt and tie. It had taken him some time to find. Rusty had pulled a face but Danny had insisted. The mirror showed him respectability, decency, propriety. _Not Rusty Ryan: Robert Charles Ryan,_ he thought. Law-abiding, upright citizen. He grimaced. So far away from himself as he could get.

"Ready?" Danny was leaning up against the door frame, hands in his pockets, sympathy losing the battle against the amusement sparkling in his face.

_You're so enjoying this._

_Can you blame me?_

The courthouse was not full but there was a steady stream of people moving through it. Rusty took a deep breath as he walked through the door, feeling Danny lean in slightly to his shoulder as he did so. A touch of comfort. A touch of support.

The court official looked up and smiled a practised smile of welcome.

"Robert Ryan. I've been called up for jury service."

"Of course, Mr Ryan. Here is some further information for you regarding your duties and the procedures including how you can make your claim for financial compensation. If you'd like to make your way to the jury assembly room on the second floor…"

"Thank you," Rusty said, collecting the paperwork.

"Can I help you?" she asked Danny.

"Oh, I'm just here…"

"No friends allowed in the assembly room, I'm afraid, though you can, of course, sit in on the proceedings once court begins."

Danny and Rusty exchanged glances.

"I'll hang around here then," Danny volunteered.

"Yeah."

_It won't be forever._

_It'll be hell._

_Oh, yes. It will. _

_Thanks._

* * *

The assembly room contained a vending machine for confectionery and another for drinks and several people – thirty odd - at various points along the impatience/resigned-to-their-fate spectrum. Rusty headed for the corner with the machines and reached in his pocket for change. A hot chocolate in one hand and a bar of chocolate in the other, he sat down on a chair by the wall and studied the room. A complete mix of sex and race and age.

A couple of girls in their late teens were sitting by the window and giggling to themselves. One was a brunette with an Alice band and the other was a blonde with impossible corkscrew ringlets who immediately became Alice and Curls. They had a "best friends forever" aura which was impressive considering they had undoubtedly only met that morning. They threw covert glances in his direction and giggled some more. Rusty studied the froth on the top of his drink.

Next to the girls, sat an elderly lady sucking a sweet and engrossed in a sizeable novel. Rusty squinted at the cover which from its illustration promised breath-taking romance and, judging by the wide-eyed look on the elderly lady's face, a goodly quantity of raw sex.

A group of men were talking vociferously in Spanish with much gesturing and head-shaking. They were speaking too quickly and with too much slang for Rusty to be completely certain but he thought the subject under discussion was the state of the Lakers.

Two middle-aged men in suits were side by side, studying the financial pages of their broadsheets and tutting to themselves. It amused Rusty that they were not synchronised. It was almost like a conversation.

A pair of old-timers had set up a chessboard between them and Rusty watched as they played. They could have been anywhere or nowhere, locked into their own little world. Rusty smiled to himself. He knew that feeling.

As he finished his drink, the door opened and an official appeared with a clipboard.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said brightly. "If I can have…" he rattled off several names, none of which were Rusty's.

Those called stood up and left and after a while, a few came back to the pool of jurors. After a while they all came back. This was the pattern for most of the day and Rusty's name was not called once. Some of the Lakers fans were currently missing. So was one of the suits, so was one of the old-timers. Trials were happening. Juries were being formed. Just without him.

As he sat munching his way through the sandwich lunch provided, he decided it was some sort of divine intervention. Unless Danny had somehow got to the clipboard...which… He considered it a strong possibility and it remained top of his list right up until late afternoon when the clipboard appeared at the door and he heard his name being read out.

_Shit._

Together with Alice and Curls, Novel Lady, The Suit and others, Rusty followed the official down the stairs and into one of the courts. They were lined up and asked to swear that they would truthfully answer all questions asked about their eligibility as jurors. And since Rusty doubted anyone was going to ask him whether or not he himself should be in the dock, he took the oath with good grace.

He was one of the twelve called into the jury box and took his seat, spying Danny sitting near the front of the court. Rusty's heart rate slowed a fraction. Danny was here. And he was right; they'd get through this together.

The judge – in his sixties and still with a good head of hair - smiled at the twelve of them in an avuncular fashion.

"I'm Judge Everton Fuller and this is my court. You've been selected as potential jurors in a criminal case, the State versus Gino Passinetti. This is a murder case and if found guilty, the defendant will face life imprisonment with recommendation for parole in twenty years. The defendant is accused of murdering a man called Marcello Tiberi."

Italian names. The hairs on the back of Rusty's neck were already standing up.

"If anyone here thinks they may have a connection to this case, they should make that clear now."

A lie or two hovered on Rusty's lips. Possibly he had gone to school with Marcello's sister or perhaps Gino's uncle had crashed his car into his a couple of months ago.

Two things stayed the words. One was the unexpected effect the oath had on him. He who could lie to everyone and anyone with one exception; he who made his living from lies; he who found his truth in the stories he inhabited; he discovered he could not be perfectly sure of delivering the lie faultlessly. Maybe it was the judge smiling down at him. Maybe it was the courtroom. Damn it, he knew there was a reason he didn't like the place.

The second thing was even more surprising: the dead eyes of the defendant sitting at the table in front of him. Rusty looked at him – really looked at him - reading him from top to toe. And then his mouth closed even more firmly and the words died away.

The opportunity to challenge the jurors came but the defence lawyer shook her head. No challenges; everyone accepted. Rusty sat back in his seat a little shocked at himself and the outcome. He looked at Danny and he could just about make out the frown of disbelief. Yes, he had some explaining to do.

* * *

For his part, Danny had spent much of the day ducking between the two courts only to find Rusty was not present. He'd got quite caught up in a breaking and entering case before reminding himself guiltily why he was there in the first place.

Like Rusty, he'd almost given up on the day and was ready to celebrate Rusty's close call when he'd sat and watched Rusty walk in. His heart had sunk when he'd heard the nature of the case and the names involved: quite possibly gang or even Mob-related. He waited for Rusty to talk himself out of jurorship. He saw the story forming on Rusty's face and the words rising to Rusty's lips and could have convinced himself he'd heard Rusty speaking the lie. When he realised the latter part had not actually happened, he sat back in his seat, amazed.

It was then that he saw the man in the front row and to the left of him, sitting behind the defendant. Late twenties possibly early thirties, brown hair down to his shoulders, dressed in the kind of suit Rusty would normally favour. He was studying the jury with intent. Intrigued, Danny changed the angle he was sat at so that he could see the man's face in profile. He was handsome in a hard kind of way. Danny watched the man's eyes move slowly over the jurors. He could read the gaze as it settled on each. Dismissed, unimportant, easily handled, no trouble…then the gaze stopped: it read 'interested'.

Danny closed his eyes and opened them again. The stare was still there. Knowing without looking, Danny looked anyway. Sure enough, the man was focused on Rusty. Danny hesitated. Maybe there was some sort of physical thing going on: Rusty could manage to inspire that without trying. Then he shook his head. _Trust your instincts,_ he told himself, _this isn't attraction, this is something else._


	4. Decision

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: only borrowing them, promise to look after them. Mostly.

A/N: oh, I have to apologise to Goldberry and otherhawk and anyone else who read the last chapter before I inserted a quick rewrite to avoid confusion. Because Danny and Rusty were not looking at the same person in court. Which will become clear in this chapter. I am so sorry. I am completely useless…:-)

Chapter Three: Decision

* * *

Not long after the jury had been chosen, the clock turned five and Judge Everton Fuller adjourned the court. Danny was waiting outside. Rusty talked little and answered him in monosyllables all the way back to the hotel and Danny was willing to put it down to the whole court experience.

"Let's eat," Rusty said tersely and Danny nodded; it was never too early to eat. Not for Rusty, anyway.

They sat in a booth in the main restaurant and ordered steaks which were duly delivered. Rusty pulled the glasses off and threw them down on the table; he ran his fingers through his hair, looking happy to ditch Robert Charles Ryan.

Danny was patient but when he realised he was half-way through his meal and there was still food on Rusty's plate, he put his knife and fork down.

"Alright. Enough. Tell me."

Rusty pushed his plate to one side and looked across at Danny.

"He didn't do it."

"What?"

"He didn't do it," Rusty shrugged.

"You know that?"

Rusty nodded. "You would too if you looked at him."

"And that's why you're staying put," Danny said heavily.

"Yeah."

"It could be the Mob."

"It could."

"You could be targeted."

"It's possible."

"Someone was watching you," Danny volunteered. "Someone who looked like he might mean business."

"Probably just fancied me."

There was a pause. They stared at each other, Danny asking sharply and Rusty levelly responding.

"You're not changing your mind, are you?"

"No."

Danny tried again. "The law can handle this."

"This isn't about the law," Rusty corrected him. "It's about justice."

_You are one stubborn son of a…_

_You know it._

Danny held his gaze, long and searching and realised he was not going to win this one.

"Just don't go all Henry Fonda on me," Danny sighed.

Rusty's face loosened into a smile for the first time all day and pulled the plate back in front of him. His appetite had returned.

* * *

The dishes had been cleared away to be replaced by a plate of long, elegant chocolate sticks that Rusty had introduced into the restaurant as an after dinner piece of added value to accompany coffee. They sat drinking the lattes, discussing the day's events in low tones.

"Mr Ryan?" a man's voice - educated, articulate - interrupted them. "May I and my colleague join you?"

Danny's mouth set in a straight line. It was the man he'd sat behind in court, the man with the slow, unblinking gaze – grey eyes, as Danny now saw - who was so very interested in the jury in general and Rusty in particular. Danny flashed Rusty a quick look. _Careful…_

Without waiting for an answer, the man sat down next to Danny and his colleague squeezed his considerable bulk in alongside Rusty.

"And you might be?" Rusty asked mildly.

"Time for introductions later. Let's just say I'm an interested party."

"Does your colleague have a name?" Danny asked.

"I imagine you can find out all you need to know just by looking at him."

And that was true. No nonsense, no sense of humour, no arguments.

"A nice business you've got here, Mr Ryan. Smart hotel, good location…I can see a lot of people flocking here…"

"Really?" Rusty was non-committal.

"Oh, yes," the man nodded vigorously. He picked up one of the chocolates. "Or, you know, not. Business can be brittle." He snapped the stick in half.

"A bit like people really," he picked up another chocolate. "They can continue as they are, growing, developing, flourishing…or they can break." He snapped the second stick.

He sighed.

"I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot, Mr Ryan, I just want to make sure you know where I'm coming from. I was close to Marcello Tiberi. I want to see the man who killed him get what's coming to him. I feel certain you can help with that. My name is Vincente, by the way."

He extended his right hand, slim but powerful, two words tattooed in flowing script across its back that Danny could not decipher.

_Rus...?_

Rusty looked at the hand, showing no inclination to respond in kind. Vincente's colleague came to life, taking hold of Rusty's right arm and forcing it across the table.

_No, _Danny read before he began to move. _Let it play._

Vincente seized Rusty's hand, holding on, his knuckles going white. "Do I make myself clear, Mr Ryan?"

"Crystal."

"I hope I do," Vincente said wonderingly. "I've been told communication is one of my weaknesses."

He suddenly shifted his grip on Rusty, holding his wrist fast. He reached over with his left hand, digging his thumb down deep into the fleshy part of Rusty's palm, just below the base of the thumb itself, his index finger closing around the opposite side, pinching hard.

Danny looked at Rusty. He was giving nothing away to Vincente: his gaze remained steady, his eyes amused. He wasn't fooling Danny though; Danny knew it damn well hurt. _Let it play_ be damned.

"Enough," Danny said brusquely. He put his hand on Vincente's arm. "Let him go."

Vincente turned as if seeing Danny for the first time properly. "You come as quite the little package, don't you?"

Dropping Rusty's hand, he shook Danny off. "I hope I made my point, Mr Ryan. I hope you take me seriously."

He stood up and then picked up another chocolate stick and bit into it. "These are really good. Nice touch."

A nod of his head and his colleague stood up also.

"Think about it, Mr Ryan. Be smart," Vincente advised. And they were gone.

Danny watched them go and then looked across at Rusty, rubbing his injured palm.

"Let me see," he said in a voice that would not take no for an answer. He reached over and took Rusty's hand in his. He ran a thumb lightly over the spot where Vincente had applied pressure and shook his head. "Damn it, Rusty!"

Rusty pulled his hand free. "It's nothing."

"Nothing," Danny repeated, allowing the current of anger to show just a little. "That was nothing. That was in no way a suggestion that you should perhaps change your mind."

Rusty stared at him. "I don't like being told what to do."

"It's about being practical, Rusty. It's about keeping your head down and your nose clean. I know these things and so do you."

Rusty's mouth set a little more firmly and Danny recognised the obduracy. It had meant them spending two weeks hiding out in the Louisiana bayou. It had led to them staying in more than one high stakes poker game longer than would have been advisable. It had on one occasion aged Danny more than he cared to imagine as tied up and gagged, he'd listened helplessly to Rusty taking a beating rather than give up their inside man.

"Will you at least consider it?" Danny asked.

Rusty looked at him. _Why are you even asking?_

"Will you at least pretend to consider it?"

Rusty nodded. "That, I can do."

* * *

It was later, it was Rusty's suite and while Rusty was pouring two glasses of Shiraz, Danny was busy with his cell phone. Rusty didn't realise until he handed him his glass exactly whom he was calling.

"Don't you tell him-"

Danny cupped a hand round the phone. "You go and sit down on the couch, Henry, I need to make this call."

"Danny-"

"Choices, Rusty, and this one's mine. Hello?"

Rusty hung at his shoulder, gripping his own wine glass, scowling, listening to the one-sided conversation.

"Bobby? Wonder if you can help me with something. Trial going on in LA. Gino Passinetti accused of killing a guy called Marcello Tiberi." He spelled the names. "Can you do a little digging for me? Check out the parties involved? Yeah, I'm thinking that. Worrying about it a little, actually."

Rusty pulled a face. Danny saying he was worrying about it was shorthand that let Bobby know it was a high priority as far as Danny was concerned: Bobby would react accordingly.

"Another thing, Bobby. Can you check out the name Vincente for me? Sorry. No, that's all I've got. Five eleven, I'd say. Grey eyes. Tattoo on his right hand. Yeah," Danny's eyes swivelled round to Rusty. "He's fine. Yeah. Yeah. No washing or cleaning. I know. Thanks, Bobby. I'll wait to hear from you."

He hung up and turned to Rusty. "He's going to call us back tomorrow night."

"Was that strictly necessary?"

"Yes, Rusty, it was." Quietly, defiantly. "Because if you won't look after yourself, I'll have to."


	5. Prosecution

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Danny still borrowed; still don't own. Wondering if I can start making down payments though.

A/N: edited with thanks to Ajedrez to try to capture Spanish pronunciation properly.

Chapter Four: Prosecution

* * *

The first thing Rusty noticed was that Vincente was absent from the courtroom. He ran the name through his head a few times. Not an English Vin-sent nor a Spanish Vee-then-tay…an Italian Vin-chen-tay. An Italian one-word name, almost as if that was the only identity he needed like Monroe or Chaplin or Elvis.

He looked at Danny, still sitting in the second row, who gave a slight nod of reassurance and he felt himself relax. At least he could focus on the trial.

There weren't in fact many people in the general seats. A handful of people who looked like this might be a regular outing and who would probably have booked front row tickets for the guillotine. A young man in his twenties who was scribbling away with the earnest air of a law student. And at the back, even though there were many empty rows in front of them, two women, one old and one young. From their body language, Rusty guessed mother and girlfriend/wife/sister of Gino. They were too far away for him to study and be sure. He made a mental note to get Danny's view.

Reluctantly, he looked at Gino, drawn and lifeless, looking as if he were already convinced how this was going to go down in spite of his "Not Guilty" plea and he closed his eyes for a moment because he really didn't like what he was seeing. Innocence and circumstances conspiring against it, innocence backed into a corner…yeah, he had a problem with that.

The facts of the case were straightforward, at least as far as the prosecution was concerned. Gino and Marcello had gotten into an argument in a bar. Gino had left and come back, waiting outside with a knife. He had stabbed Marcello to death on the steps and run off.

Rusty half-listened to the prosecutor's questions and the witnesses' answers. He was much more interested in reading the people.

The prosecutor was in his fifties, balding with an unexpectedly black moustache. Looking at it with a professional eye, Rusty didn't even think he dyed it. Something in the finish… He was steady and logical and thorough.

The defence lawyer was a woman in her thirties: short, bobbed brown hair, glasses with metallic rims, earnest, unsmiling. She cross-examined by firing short, little questions back at the witnesses and gave a peremptory nod at each of their replies. Rusty wondered if her heart was really in this case. She had an air of someone who had given up before they'd even started.

There were four witnesses. The policeman who was first on the scene – efficient, truthful, surprisingly honest; the bartender – world-weary, someone who had disappointed himself with his choice in life; a bar regular – easily led, indifferent; and Marcello's girl, Anna-Mae – none too bright and, Rusty suddenly realised, petrified.

The bartender and the regular testified to the row. Anna-Mae testified to the stabbing. She was, in fact, the only person to identify Gino, the only person to tie him in to the actual murder. Rusty looked at her even more closely and knew without a shadow of a doubt she was lying through her teeth.

* * *

Danny sat in court, also half-listening to the words and focusing instead on the players. He was also watching Rusty watching them and thought they were pretty much drawing the same conclusions.

It annoyed him that he couldn't get a good look at Gino to know the truth that Rusty saw. His mind travelled back to his own trial. It was lonely as hell in court when you were guilty, never mind when you were innocent.

He found himself ridiculously relieved that Vincente wasn't there. Something in the man's manner had suggested he could get very serious. And Rusty might just be obstinate enough to let him.

* * *

Lunchtime.

In the jury room, Rusty picked up a packet of chicken and mayo sandwiches and opened them, suddenly aware that Alice and Curls were deep in conversation with Novel Lady and that all three were glancing at him and nodding. Weird. Maybe they just liked the glasses.

His mind started replaying the morning. The witnesses had been definite and damning and at the moment, Gino was on the way to the big house. He hoped the defence had an alibi so watertight it could hold its breath with the best of them.

_Damn. _Three more jurors had joined the possible fan club. He sighed.

"What is it, ladies?" he addressed Alice and Curls and kicked himself immediately as they dissolved into giggles.

He looked at Novel Lady for assistance.

"We were just saying that when it comes to it, you would be an excellent choice," she smiled.

_Excellent…? _

"Choice?" He was completely clueless.

"As foreperson of the jury."

_Shit, no!_

"Oh, I don't think so," Rusty shook his head, consternation filling his face.

"Yes, yes!" This from one of the Lakers' fans who hadn't even been part of the fan club. "You will speak for us very well."

His two co-fans nodded vigorously.

Unwillingly, Rusty recalled an article on the statistics of jury foreperson selection that he'd read holed up in the back of beyond with limited choice of reading matter. Usually white, usually male, usually middle class, usually with at least the appearance of being better educated…which meant Robert Charles Ryan…_damn, damn, damn!_

He looked desperately round the room and spotted The Suit by the window and waved a hand in his direction. "I really think that-"

"No, no," The Suit said hurriedly. "I agree that you'd be perfect."

Rusty opened his mouth and closed it again, suddenly reading something that shouldn't be there. It looked like Vincente had been busy.

"You would be perfect," Alice agreed suddenly. "Absolutely perfect."

Curls nodded. More giggles. Everyone else nodded too.

_Oh, crap._

* * *

The vending machines in the public area of the court held little choice. Danny's eyes roamed across the options and felt as he used to when Rusty and he were stuck in a motel with only the comfort of cable and machines that dispensed stuff to rot your teeth and wreck your gut. Not that Rusty ever seemed to care.

He decided on a can of soda and a bag of potato chips. "_Potato's a vegetable, right?" _he heard in his head and saw his own look of exasperation and frustration.

The seats in the corridors were among the least comfortable he had known and as he ate, he wondered how Rusty was doing. He'd seemed more confident today. More like Rusty. That probably had to be a good thing.

Lunch finished, a comfort break called and he headed to the bathroom, still wondering about Rusty. Rusty in court in any capacity didn't seem right and although he thought it funny as hell that it had happened, he found he didn't like the idea of Rusty being anywhere too near a judge and jury. Just too unsettling for words.

As he opened the door to leave the empty bathroom, Danny found his way blocked by someone who could only be a colleague of Vincente's. Vincente squeezed past him.

"We need to talk," he explained.

Danny turned round and folded his arms.

"OK." _Let it play…_

"My associates and I would like this case resolved in the shortest possible time and I believe that Mr Ryan is the key to that."

Vincente held himself perfectly still as he spoke and Danny was suddenly, bizarrely, put in mind of Rusty; Rusty, with his absolute composure and lithe grace. And somehow that frightened Danny a little more than it perhaps should. It spoke of a man who knew himself, who knew how he impacted on this world, who knew exactly how to handle himself, who moved leanly and with no excess effort: a man in complete control.

"How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.

There was a flash of a smile on Vincente's face.

"I pride myself that I can read people. The rest are sheep and will follow. Mr Ryan on the other hand can lead them. I want a verdict with unanimity. I want Gino Passinetti to go down for a very long time. Then Marcello can truly rest in peace."

"Gino might be innocent," Danny ventured, not entirely sure it was wise to do so.

The smile flicked on and off again.

"The evidence weighs against him, don't you think?" he said. "Persuade Mr Ryan that it is in his best interests to co-operate. We want this over. Quick and simple."

"Uh-huh."

Vincente sighed. "I really don't want this to escalate. But it will. Tell him I need a sign tomorrow that he's playing along."

"What sort of sign?"

"Get him to wear a colourful shirt if he's got any. That one yesterday was so bland."

He nodded farewell and disappeared, leaving Danny to think over his words and the one phrase in particular that left him cold. "I really don't want this to escalate"…he really didn't want it to either.


	6. Reflection

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: do not own Danny or Rusty. Just borrowing.

A/N: thank you to everyone who's reading. I just want it to be known that in between otherhawk's "Falling like dominoes" and NothingToulouse's "Seen and Unforeseen", I am a complete wreck and not that I think anyone should or would necessarily take a recommendation from me, but seriously, if you haven't read either (and I can't imagine that you wouldn't have), please go and read. If only so that I have fellow wreckees. :-)

Chapter Five: Reflection

* * *

"No. No problems."

Vincente was sitting in the lounge of the hotel opposite the courthouse, phone to his ear, coffee near his lips.

"It's all sweet," he reassured, taking a sip and wincing. The coffee was poor and unlike last night, there were no chocolate sticks on offer. He'd been sincere: those really had been a nice touch.

Pushing the cup away, he concentrated on the phone conversation.

"Took care of the jury. Yeah. It's sound. Marcello will be avenged."

He almost choked with laughter on the last part of the sentence but he knew it was what the listener wanted to hear and he said it anyway. A few more pleasantries and he snapped the phone shut and stared out of the window at the building where the trial was taking place.

Things were progressing to plan, he told himself. The case against Gino was being built, the lawyers were playing their parts, and the jury…he sighed. The jury. Hand-picked from a list of names and jobs provided. Teenagers, the elderly, migrants and two choices that he'd had to pick and hope. Not that the first had been an issue. Office worker; easily terrified; readily accommodating; happy to do as he was told just for an easy life. Now, the second…

Robert Charles Ryan had been unexpected. He'd thought he was going to be as easy to play as the office worker. Instead, he'd sat down opposite him last night and looked into the most startling eyes. Eyes that were fearless with a complete lack of self-consciousness; eyes that…yes, eyes that reminded him of his own reflection. Vincente had to admit that had taken him aback.

Not that he'd let it show, of course. Not that he'd let it get in the way of his usual opening gambit. Ryan had stood up to it well, too. Unflinching and not a wince. As for his friend, the one who'd stepped in…well, that had needed checking out too. Both had made his research this morning even more urgent.

"Legacy," one source had said. "Came into money, bought the place about a year ago."

"Lottery," another whisper had it. "Big win. Poured a lot of money into the hotel."

Either way, Ryan had been painted as a complete workaholic. Occasional trips out of town, sure, but basically every hour, every dollar tied up in his business, refurbishing, trying to develop people and improve process and the whole guest experience, introducing the wow factor…

"Hookers?" he'd asked. "Girlfriends? Boyfriends?"

Everyone had shaken their heads. Ryan's focus was completely on the hotel. No one and nothing else seemed to come close.

As for the friend who had intervened…Vincente ran a thumb over his lips. He'd apparently arrived from nowhere a couple of days ago. Old school friend, old college friend, old frat buddy, Vincente thought. An old but casual acquaintance.

He'd spotted the wedding band on the man's hand. And nothing in his behaviour or Ryan's had suggested there was anything sexual between them, anyway. And yet…there had been something, he could have sworn. Just a flicker of something… Shaking his head, he told himself not to chase what wasn't there. The man was a friend who had felt the need to break up his little handshake. Macho, protective instinct, Vincente decided. Needing to preen just a little to show that he himself could not possibly be intimidated.

The encounter in the bathroom had been slightly more satisfying from that point of view. The man hadn't been half as strong without an audience. Vincente actually felt comforted that he would do his best to persuade Ryan to see sense.

So, Ryan…the threat needed to be against the business, he'd been correct with that. And those eyes…Vincente wanted the look in those eyes to change; and for that, he might have to underline a few things.

* * *

Inside the courthouse, the prosecution brought the day to a close with a summary of the forensic report and the coroner's findings. Murder on the steps of a bar on a rainy night was as final as any but really, death was brutal, however it came.

Danny could not wait for the end of the day.

* * *

As Rusty stepped down from the jury and through the court, Danny stood up and took him by the elbow.

"We need to talk," he said in a low, insistent voice, his face tight.

"OK…"

"Now."

They walked outside and Danny pulled him up against the courthouse wall.

"What?" Rusty wondered aloud.

"Vincente. Lunchtime. Bathroom."

Rusty's face tensed. _Did he-?_

"I'm just the messenger," Danny reassured and Rusty breathed again.

A couple of people walked past and Danny ducked into the wall on Rusty's other side.

"It's all about you, Rusty," he said bluntly. "He's dismissed the rest. Thinks you can persuade them to your point of view. Somehow he's come to the conclusion that you can talk anyone into anything. Which…"

_Yeah._

"Rusty, he's serious. He said you were the person to lead them to a unanimous verdict-" he broke off looking at the shift in Rusty's expression. "Tell me."

Rusty grimaced. "The others…kind of…" _Damn it. _"…want me to be the jury foreperson."

_Oh, crap._

_That's what I said._

Danny looked at him. "You read Gino and I'm reading Vincente. He means it, Rusty. He asked for a sign that you were going to co-operate."

"What sort of sign?"

The irony of it all made Danny smile in spite of himself. "He would like you to try and find a shirt in your wardrobe that isn't as insipid as the ones you've been wearing."

"Really?" Rusty gave in to the half-grin. "That's gonna be tough."

_You think?_

Rusty considered. "Well, I can do that."

Danny frowned at the sudden capitulation. He'd been expecting to argue longer and harder. "You can?"

Rusty shrugged. "I can wear the shirt." And as the exasperation crept into Danny's face again, he added, "I'll even try and find a suit to match."

* * *

It wasn't an argument, per se. It was perhaps, a debate; a discussion between two people with very different viewpoints. It started on the court steps, lasting through the car journey back to the hotel car park and pushing on through the doors of a nearby Italian restaurant.

_Italian? _

_Yeah. _

_You feeling ironic?_

_Often._

Danny could not get to the bottom of Rusty's lack of pragmatism.

"You don't even know Gino," he pointed out as the plates of pasta arrived.

"I feel I do," Rusty contradicted him. "And I am not about throwing him to the wolves."

"These wolves are likely to come and find you if you don't. Big teeth and all, Red Riding-Hood."

Rusty sighed. "Look. Vincente doesn't know what I'm thinking, does he?"

"No," Danny said reluctantly.

"For all he knows, I might be ready to agree with him."

"Yes. Except you aren't."

"He doesn't know that..." It was Rusty's turn to look exasperated. "We can go round in circles all night, Danny. All that's happened so far is that Vincente thinks he needs to make a point. Well, let him think he's made it."

There was a silence as Danny digested the thought.

"Meantime…?"

"Meantime, he's not going to touch me while I'm on the jury. He wants me in place. But…" Rusty hesitated. "I think it's time for you to leave town."

"Well, that's not happening."

"Danny…"

"Not in a million years, Rus."

Rusty looked down at the tablecloth and then up, unblinking blue, at Danny. "He knows we're friends at the very least. And at the very most, he'll have worked out that we're together. He wouldn't understand it but he would know we're together. That makes you leverage. And you've got Tess, Danny, Tess to go home to."

"Aww…" Danny studied the ceiling and then closed his eyes. "I can't do it, Rus."

"Tess, Danny," Rusty repeated.

"Enough about Tess!" Danny brought his fist down on the table, making the cutlery jump and the nearby diners turn round. "Enough about Tess," he said again in a voice approaching normality. "This is about you. And if you think for one second I'm walking away from this, you are sadly mistaken."

Rusty said nothing for a moment and just held his gaze. "I need you to do this," he said and there was the slightest note of panic in his voice. "I won't risk you-"

"Then why risk you?"

The resolution was back in Rusty's face. "It's something I have to do."

"And so is staying with you."

Danny looked at Rusty's expression of turmoil and almost, almost considered playing him. Telling him that Vincente had exuded a hint of threat against him, Danny. That Vincente had lightly suggested that Danny could get caught up in the crossfire. It would be enough to make Rusty reconsider, he was sure, enough to make Rusty toe the line: he just couldn't lie to him.

"You're wrong," he said heavily. "Vincente doesn't think of us like that. He isn't seeing _us_."

"The other night...?" Rusty said disbelievingly.

"He's dismissed it. Put it down to the reactions of a concerned friend and that is it. There was nothing pointed in my direction, Rusty. It's all aimed at you."

"How do you know?" And Rusty's voice was low.

He sighed. "Like I said, I read him, Rus, just like you read Gino."

And that was unassailable.


	7. Alarm

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Danny and Rusty: don't own. Though it's imminently my birthday...

Chapter Six: Alarm

* * *

They'd eaten the lukewarm carbonara and they'd reached a compromise. Danny got to stay, Rusty got to fool Vincente. Neither was fond of the other's choice. Both agreed to revisit their decisions if there were any further developments. Both knew they wouldn't change their own mind and both worried that the other wouldn't change his.

Now, Danny was watching Rusty and a plate of tiramisu. He knew that he was not going to get much sense out of him until a considerable portion of the dessert had been eaten and he waited patiently as he always did.

"So," he began as Rusty manoeuvred nearly the last forkful of cream and sponge into his mouth. "You planning on getting Gino off by charm alone?"

Rusty grinned and licked the fork. "I'd have a damn good try."

_You would too._

"Look, even Vincente said the prosecution's evidence was damning. If-"

"How did he know?" Rusty frowned.

"He wasn't in court," Danny said, realising and wondering how he'd missed it.

"He's controlling this case," Rusty said slowly. "We need to find out what really happened."

_You sure about that?_

_Yes. However many times you ask._

"OK. So, how do you want to play this, Columbo? Because I'm sure on that court paperwork there's something about not investigating the case."

"Yeah. Think you're right," Rusty agreed, concentrating on scraping up the last of the tiramisu. "Don't want to get into trouble with the law."

Danny looked at him, annoyed and amused. Because really, the law seemed the least of their worries. "No, we don't want that."

Rusty grinned back at him. _So?_

"If I'm out, I can't be in court," Danny reminded.

"I can handle court."

"I thought you were allergic."

"I'm building up my resistance."

"What about Vincente?"

"I can handle him too." And Rusty won the battle of the looks.

Danny exhaled slowly and nodded. _OK. _

"The girl, right?"

"Yeah. She's terrified. There's a story there. Oh, and I saw someone who must be Gino's mother. And another who was possibly his-"

"-sister," Danny finished with certainty. He'd seen them too. "I'll start with them."

* * *

Back at the Standard, and after much fierce discussion on whether or not Danny should be staying in another room entirely – which saw Danny winning that particular round – Bobby called back.

"Hope I've got good news," he said. "Gino's been in trouble a couple of times but minor stuff, nothing to put him away, only a few strong words. He's nothing to do with the Mob as far as I can see. Marcello's clean too. No history."

"Really?" Danny frowned. He had been sure that… "What about Vincente?"

Bobby hesitated. "Well, that is a conundrum."

Danny was back on high alert and he held the phone out so that Rusty could hear what Bobby said.

"There is someone matching your description of Vincente. Not on file, never been caught, he's only on the wish list. And he _is_ Mob-related."

Rusty ignored the look that Danny threw at him.

"Third or fourth generation Italian-American. We think he acts as some sort of freelance enforcer."

Danny's look grew stronger.

"Nothing concrete, like I say, but the rumours…"

"He's dangerous, right?" Danny felt the need to make the point.

"Dangerous as a basketful of rattlesnakes," Bobby agreed. "From what I can see on file, he's got quite a nice line in intimidation." He paused. "You want me to keep digging? I still can't see a connection between the case and the Mob."

"Thanks, Bobby." Danny hung up.

"We've had the conversation and don't even start," Rusty warned.

"But he's-"

Danny's sentence was cut off by the sudden, insistent ringing of the fire alarm.

"No drill," Rusty said tersely and they sprinted.

* * *

Downstairs, there was organised chaos as guests milled through the foyer and out the door, guided by hotel staff. There was hubbub but no panic. The sense of pride within Rusty was immense as he watched his people work calmly and efficiently to evacuate, check and lock down the hotel.

Danny looked at Rusty. _Don't mind me. Go to work._

Adrenaline pumping through him, Rusty saw Arthur, his duty manager, look over at him and he nodded back, reassured. Everything was orderly. Everything was calm. Everything was under control.

"Wait outside, would you?" Rusty asked casually and Danny nodded, not wanting to get under Rusty's feet.

He walked out of the main doors as Rusty crossed the foyer.

"What's the story, Arthur?"

"Alarm went off on the top floor, Mr Ryan. We're busy getting everyone out. Someone thought they saw smoke..."

_Smoke. That couldn't be good._

"Mr Ryan?" It was Kirsty who seemed to have landed the perennial late shift these days. He'd have to check that rota. "The fire people are here."

The fire trucks had indeed arrived promptly and Rusty walked out of the hotel to greet them. The chief introduced himself to Rusty, checked the location indicated by the alarm panel and his men started heading into the hotel. Rusty caught sight of Danny, standing with the growing crowd, watching him and they exchanged a quick, tight smile.

After a while, the firemen emerged and spoke in low tones to their chief who came over to speak to Rusty.

"Well?"

"False alarm, Mr Ryan."

"False alarm?" Rusty could not keep the relief from his voice. At the back of his mind there'd been flames and destruction and death.

"Someone's punched the alarm but there's not even a trace of fire. Probably a drunk…"

"Someone said there was smoke..."

The fire chief smiled. "People imagine the craziest things. Count yourself lucky with this one, Mr Ryan."

* * *

"False alarm. That's good, right?" Danny said when they were back in Rusty's suite.

"I guess…"

* * *

The second alarm sounded two hours later. This time, people were emerging bewildered into the corridors in night clothes and half-asleep faces.

The alarm rang for the third time an hour and a half later, and an hour after that for the fourth time.

By the time of the fifth false alarm, noticeably fewer people were leaving the building. Grim-faced, Rusty watched Arthur trying to coax reluctant guests out into the night. Now there was no order; no plan. Now, the fire chief was calling ahead before sending a truck. Now, not even his staff had any impetus to react.

Leaving Rusty to co-ordinate operations, Danny had taken it up on himself to check out the supposedly affected areas, phoning down to confirm the false alarm each time.

Rusty could see him now, coming out of the hotel's front door, his expression matching how Rusty felt.

"We can do this all night," said a mild voice at Rusty's shoulder and he turned to see Vincente.

"All night," Vincente repeated. "Next night too. Soon, word will be that your hotel is not a convenient place to stay. And then-"

"And then one time the fire will be real," Rusty finished tightly. "I get it."

The hotel. His hotel. Up in smoke with everyone inside. Well, that wouldn't be happening. Not because of him. Rusty's mind was suddenly made up.

"Like I said, think about it, Mr Ryan. Be smart."

Locking down on the anger, Rusty raised a thin smile by return.

"You didn't need to do this," he said levelly.

Vincente held his gaze, searching for something that Rusty could not fathom.

"The trouble is, Mr Ryan, I rather think I did," he said sorrowfully. "And I hope more than anything you'll see reason. Because the alternative can get messy. Be seeing you."

He slipped away and Rusty stared after him.

"He's behind this." It was Danny, protectiveness writ large across his features.

"He is," Rusty agreed reluctantly. He heard the unspoken question and added firmly, "And the answer is still no."

"We said if anything else happened-"

"-we'd think again and I've thought. I know what I'm doing. Decision stands."

Danny kept his voice low as bystanders milled past. "You heard Bobby. You've seen what's happened tonight. What makes you think it's going to get any better?"

There was a quirky smile on Rusty's face as he answered the rhetorical question. "You have to work to make it better. You have to care to make it better. And I'm good at both of those. Always have been."

Cryptic as hell. And not for the first time in their relationship, Danny could cheerfully have punched him.


	8. Evidence

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: so not mine.

A/N: Slightly longer chapter than usual. Sorry about that. Just couldn't break it, really.

Chapter Seven: Evidence

* * *

There had been no further false alarms but both of them had slept fitfully. Rusty was first to wake and he looked over at Danny, still asleep. If Vincente had so much as…if there'd been the slightest hint…but there hadn't been. Danny had been right. Rusty could see that Vincente was completely trained on him and his business. Even so, a sixth sense wanted to bundle Danny on to the next plane Connecticut-bound. He idly wondered about enlisting Tess as an ally but he figured he might actually want to talk to Danny again at some point in the future.

So to Friday. Had this really only started three days ago? He shook his head. Well, his mind was still made up. Swinging himself out of bed, he headed for the shower, thinking about what he was going to wear to court. He didn't want to disappoint Vincente.

As Rusty fastened his tie, he caught sight of Danny in the mirror, his face a picture.

"Colourful, you said."

Danny took in the raspberry suit, the purple and liquorice shirt and the silver tie. His head hurt just thinking about it never mind looking at it.

"I wish you always listened to me." He squinted at the colour combination in front of him. "You planning on blinding him into submission?"

Rusty ignored him.

"Where are you today?"

"Court first, catch up with Gino's relatives, then Gino's neighbourhood. I'll try to get a line on him. And I'll see what I can find out about Anna-Mae."

Rusty turned to face him.

"Be careful," he said unnecessarily. "You don't know who's watching."

"Thought about a disguise-" Danny began and broke off when the smirk appeared on Rusty's face. "What?"

"You don't do disguises, remember? Not well, anyway," he qualified.

"What?" Danny was already thinking of past triumphs and he let the outrage show.

"It's not your fault," Rusty added soothingly. "You just don't have the face for it."

Several words started to form on Danny's lips but he settled for, "Explain."

"You're too damn memorable."

Danny stared at Rusty, at probably the most beautiful man he'd ever met or was likely to meet.

"_I'm_ too memorable…"

Rusty shook his head. "It's the eyes, I think. You can't hide them. Sorry. But you can't."

There was a moment of quiet fuming.

"So, be careful," Rusty said again, underlining it with his eyes.

Danny considered. "If you thought…you'd-"

"-in a heartbeat. But you aren't going to be able to lie to me anytime soon."

Well, that was true. Speaking of eyes… He frowned at Rusty. Something was…

"Where are the glasses?"

"Not wearing them," Rusty said, smiling.

Danny wasn't smiling. "Tell me you're not doing what I think you're-"

"Gonna let him think I've got contacts," Rusty said, grin widening as Danny immediately got it. "He won't expect me to completely roll over, I don't think. And he's smart enough to understand."

Forget the punching: Danny wanted to strangle him.

* * *

Danny caught up with Gino's mother and sister just before they'd gone into the courthouse.

"Mrs Passinetti?" he'd begun and hadn't been prepared for the look of fear that crossed the old woman's face.

"Go away!" her daughter stepped in, pushing her mother behind her.

"I just wanted to-"

"Go away!" Fierce. Insistent. "I've seen you in court. You think I don't know who you are? Who you're from?"

_Who…?_

"I'm not-"

"He's done what you wanted!"

"What do you mean?"

She laughed and there was a little craziness in the laugh. "You want me to spell it out? You want to hurt us further?"

"I don't…" Danny frowned. "Look, I'm trying to help Gino."

"Sure." Her mouth tightened with contempt. "Sure you are. That's exactly what they said, exactly what they told him. We want to help you. Help you help your family. Take the money, take the rap. You'll get a fair trial. Plead not guilty. Who knows? You might get off."

Gino's sister paused, breathing heavily, a sob mixed up in there.

"Well, he did what was asked of him," she said in a low, trembling voice. "And, yes, he took the money. Somehow, I don't think he's getting that fair trial, do you?"

And she put her arm around her mother and pushed past a speechless Danny into the court house.

_Well, that was unexpected._

* * *

Rusty kept his demeanour meek. In spite of the clothes, he played himself humble and conciliatory. He caught sight of The Suit who shot him a look of sympathy as if he knew Vincente had been applying pressure. Alice and Curls had giggled at his lack of glasses and God help him, there had definitely been the hint of a swoon.

He didn't meet Vincente's eyes at all. Keeping his eyes focused on the wood panelling in front of him, Rusty listened to the defence open their case. There were the expected statements about deprivation and neighbourhood and Rusty felt something inside him tighten.

Unwillingly, he raised his gaze and looked at Gino and met those dead eyes, the eyes that had no hope and that knew what was coming. Rusty saw familiar things: misery, self-loathing, despair, hurt, desperation and his mouth felt dry. He didn't see any hunger to change how things were. He just saw resignation and that let an unguarded spark of anger into his face before he realised and pushed it away.

He studied the wood panelling again. It was by far the safest place to look.

* * *

When Vincente had walked into court and seen how Ryan was dressed, he had actually smiled. It was everything he wanted as an outcome and more. Ryan had obviously decided to see sense and the threat against the hotel had worked beautifully. Good. He'd hoped it would. He liked to think he had a fine eye for details and this had definitely been the right call.

He listened idly to the defence's opening and he watched Ryan. Subdued despite the outlandish outfit. The fight gone out of him. Oh, and no glasses… Vincente liked that message. Traces of bravado. Nothing substantial. Nothing to worry about. Eyes down. Playing along. Good, he thought again. The alternative would have – could have - been messy.

Then the defence started in on a plea based on Gino's background and he saw Ryan's gaze dragged reluctantly to Gino himself. And Vincente caught his breath. Because travelling though Ryan's eyes, he'd caught the anger. Momentary but present and Vincente knew that Robert Charles Ryan didn't intend to play along at all.

* * *

The court official had had no hope against the patented Ocean smile and charm and Danny had walked away with Gino's address and Anna-Mae's too.

Now, he was walking through Gino's streets and as he walked, he could smell the decay in the air. Not from the garbage cans or the badly-maintained drains but from the people themselves; heads down, dealing with their lot in life by ignoring it, not even trying to rise above what had been handed to them. It couldn't be universal, of course: some of them had to want better for themselves. But as Danny walked, the all-pervading feeling was of apathy and a community that didn't much care.

He slipped into a couple of coffee shops local to Gino and asked a couple of gentle questions. No one was helpful, no one was unhelpful. They knew Gino; they knew his family; they knew about the court case. There was no surprise in the voices he talked to; no outrage.

"Do you think he did it?" Danny asked and the answer was always the same. A shrug of the shoulders. No one was bothered.

He left Gino's part of town mid-morning, glad to be sloughing off the apathy. As he parked up near Anna-Mae's address, his phone rang and it was Bobby.

"Tell me," Danny said.

"There is a Mob connection. Marcello is related to the head of one of the families. He's second cousin twice removed on his mother's side or something but the relationship is there. He wasn't a criminal. He was a-"

"-trainee florist, yeah." Danny had heard that remarkable piece of information too.

"But."

"But?"

"He was a godson. And I don't think his murder went down well at all. Families don't tend to like that kind of spontaneity."

"Well, that explains why Vincente's involved and looking for justice."

There was a pause.

"I've been patient, Danny. You want to tell me?"

Danny hesitated because in truth he wanted nothing more than to tell Bobby exactly what was going on and exactly how stubborn Rusty was being. Perhaps Bobby could exert some influence on Vincente. He wouldn't have a hope with Rusty. Danny knew if he himself couldn't shift him, no one would. But this was Rusty's story. It wasn't his to tell.

"Wish I could," Danny said reluctantly. "But thanks for the information, Bobby."

"You promise me you're both being sensible."

Now, that was a hard one to answer.

"I can tell you that we each think we are."

"Oh, Christ…" Danny could picture the mix of concern and vexation on Bobby's face. "Look, I'll stay out of it for now. But you call me if you need to because from what I can see, Vincente plays for keeps."

Yeah. Danny had come to the same conclusion. And it didn't make it any better to hear he was right.

* * *

The defence's case was weak, like they weren't really trying. Rusty wanted to get hold of the defence lawyer and shake her into challenging the details, quizzing the witnesses, put some fire into her, make her _do_ something.

He was also trying his best to avoid looking at Gino: he couldn't afford to lose control again, even for a second.

* * *

Anna-Mae peered round the door, wide-eyed and worried.

Danny gave her every ounce of charm.

"I'd really like to talk with you," he said in his warmest tones.

"Not saying nothing," came the terse response.

"I just want to hear your side of what happened."

There was a pause and then hesitantly, "I saw you in court. Who are you? Press?"

_Was he? Hell, yeah._

"My paper would love to find out more about the heroine in all this."

"Heroine?" The door opened slightly further and the eyes grew wider. Some of the worry disappeared to be replaced by curiosity.

"Sure." His widest smile.

She hesitated. "Not now," she said finally.

"When? Where?" he asked gently.

"Tomorrow. 3pm. You know Shelleys on the corner of Aston Boulevard."

He didn't but he'd find it.

"I'll be there," he assured her. "And thank you."

"Yeah…" she paused, then with just a hint of coyness, "Is there going to be a photo?"

Danny's smile was broad. "Absolutely."

* * *

Lunch had been and gone in the courtroom and Rusty noticed without looking that Vincente had not returned. All the other players were there though: Gino's relatives, the law student, the ghoulish regulars.

The defence lawyer was slow back to her seat and she bent her head towards Gino with a whispered message, then approached the bench.

Judge Everton Fuller listened, nodded and made an announcement.

"Some new evidence has come to light and the defence would like to request a recess in order to explore it. Court is adjourned until Monday morning. Have a good weekend, people."

Under his eyelashes, Rusty watched Gino's face and saw a flicker of hope. Good. That was more like it.

* * *

Outside the court, he walked back to the car, punching in Danny's number as he did so.

"Court broke up early," he said. "New evidence for the defence."

There was definitely a question in the last phrase. Danny quashed it.

"Not me."

"Oh…OK. What you got to tell me?"

"Bobby called. There is a Mob connection. Marcello was important to one of the family heads."

"Well, that explains-"

"Yeah. You going to talk to Bobby?"

Rusty smiled. "No. Haven't finished talking to you."

He heard the sigh.

"Anna-Mae's meeting me tomorrow for a heart-to-heart."

"Sounds cosy."

"Hope not."

"You meet up with Gino's relatives?"

"I did."

Rusty could hear the reluctance. "What is it?"

"Gino was paid to take the fall. Sorry, Rusty. Not as innocent as you'd hoped."

There was a pause and then, "We're still going through with this, Danny."

He knew the next question before Danny asked it and they spoke at the same time.

"Was-"

"Yeah. Think he believes me."

"Think or know?"

"Didn't look at him. Thought it best."

"Right. See you back at the hotel."

"Yeah. Later." Rusty hung up and started to dig around in his pocket for his car keys.

He felt rather than saw the presence behind him and he made an instinctive break for it rounding the corner at high speed. Unfortunately, he ran straight into someone solid and brick-like. And then whoever he was running from caught up with him and proved to be equally immovable.

A grey van pulled up alongside and the side door flew open. Encouragement appeared in the form of a gun, a strip of dark cloth secured itself around his eyes and stumbling, he found himself pushed into the van and away.


	9. Pain

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: I know I promise to look after them when I borrow them. Well, I am sorry.

A/N: OK. Warnings for this chapter and lots of them. This is probably the strongest on page posted violence I've written. It isn't pretty, in fact it's brutal though I hope that those of you who have made it past the prologue understand that physical violence is very much a part of this fic. Apart from saying "don't try this at home", I feel I ought to point out that all the techniques Vincente employs are real. They happen in the world today and that is even less of a pretty thought.

Those of you who have read this and are reading "Falling like dominoes" (and if you aren't reading the latter, what is wrong with you? Go and read it! It is a genius fic!), will notice that otherhawk and I both seem to have a thing for Rusty's hands. We (obviously) came up with our thoughts separately but it's probably because Rusty's hands are, well...invaluable. Like a violinist's or a pianist's or something.

Oh, and otherhawk? That second opinion and reassurance thing? Right back at ya.

Chapter Eight: Pain

* * *

The first thing they'd done, after the makeshift blindfold and the gun in his ribs and the surprising decision to leave his hands free, was to remove his shoes and socks. Escape was going to be just that little bit more painful.

It wasn't the first time he'd been in a situation of impending violence. If he were lucky, there would be some unscientific pummelling and that meant punches and bruises and cracked ribs, all of which would mend. If they knew what they were doing, it would be bad. He thought back to Eddie Lavelle and his fondness for little games with electricity and water and gritted his teeth.

Of course, if they really knew what they were doing, it would be agony. Because he was as brave as the next man but the next man would be Danny and for them, nothing hurt as much as listening to the other being hurt. And fortunately, only a couple of people had ever worked that out: unfortunately, however, a couple of people had worked that out.

He pushed away the memory of the basement in New York. Oh, he'd begged, then. Not at first. At first, he'd watched them mete out punishment and he'd said nothing. He'd kept his expression completely blank. And then he'd realised that they were in fact watching him and he knew, he just knew they knew…

Then, he'd begged. He'd begged and pleaded till his throat was hoarse and he knew as he did it, it was a mistake, a big mistake, the worst kind of error, but Danny's eyes were rolling back in his head by then and the blood had been bubbling up through his lips and Rusty would have done anything at that point, anything to try and stop it…

* * *

They drove for a while and then the van stopped. Doors opened and he was dragged out roughly and pushed forward. There was salt in the air and waves lapping and he winced as hard gravel bit into his feet. The surface underfoot unexpectedly changed to smooth concrete and he guessed they were now indoors. The blindfold was lifted and he stood blinking in the artificial light of a warehouse without windows.

Rusty felt a rush of relief as he realised Danny was absent. So it might be bad but it wouldn't be the worst. Then he caught sight of the hooks in the ceiling and the chains attached. Once, some sort of butchers, some place where they'd once hung meat. _And now, other things…_the thought rose unbidden.

There were two wooden chairs in the middle of the room and in one of them, there was Vincente. Suddenly, Rusty wondered if he should be nervous about the fact that they'd left his hands free.

"So nice to see you again, Mr Ryan," Vincente greeted him. "Please take a seat." He indicated the chair opposite him.

"Happy to stand."

Vincente chuckled. "You say that now… In any case, Mr Ryan, I must insist."

The nearest colleague leaned in towards Rusty and he sighed and sat down.

"You know, I saw the way you were dressed today and I really thought you were co-operating. You don't know how sorry I was to realise that you were bluffing."

Bluffing? The only hint he'd given had been… Rusty swore inwardly.

"Now, some people might tell you that they're going to regret what's about to happen," Vincente said conversationally. "But I'm not one of those people."

"Didn't think for a moment you were."

"Don't get me wrong, I don't take pleasure in it either."

"Really." Rusty's tone was sceptical. "Is it going to hurt you more than it hurts me?"

"Oh, I don't lie."

"So, there's going to be pain," Rusty said lightly.

Vincente's eyes agreed.

"What do you want?"

"Only to make a point."

"Nothing else?"

"If I wanted something else, I could have it in seven seconds."

Rusty's eyebrow raised itself involuntarily.

"You don't believe me?" Vincente smiled. He considered for a moment and Rusty swallowed hard. He hadn't intended to suggest a challenge.

"Inclined board, you strapped down on your back, head first, towel wrapped over your face, water hosed down in your mouth, up your nose. You'd believe you were drowning and no amount of holding your breath would help. Seven seconds is about the average."

"Huh." Now _that _was an image to hang on to.

"But not right now. Right now, I just want to impress upon you how serious I am. What the consequences would be. I've shown you what will happen to your business. And now, I want to make sure you fully understand what will happen to you."

Rusty looked at him searchingly. "It won't matter what I say or do, will it?"

"No."

"Not if I beg or plead or cry or scream."

"No."

"Then, can't we just skip to the end, take it that I've got the message and avoid the senseless torture?"

Vincente chuckled again. "Unfortunately, Mr Ryan, I need to make sure I've made myself clear. Therefore the senseless torture remains. If it's any comfort, you will survive. And I don't intend to leave you permanently damaged. Though I'd be lying if I said that means it will hurt any less."

He reached over and took hold of Rusty's left hand.

"Don't remember saying we could go steady."

A smile flashed on to Vincente's face and off again.

"Tattoo as well, I see," he remarked, running a thumb lightly over the ink marks peeking out of Rusty's sleeve. "Sign of youthful indiscretion?"

"Oh, the tattoo's got a story all of its own."

He looked into Rusty's eyes. "Maybe you'll share that another time."

"Don't count on it." Rusty looked down at Vincente's own tattoo. "Per Siempre," he read aloud. "And was it?"

"Left me the day I got it," Vincente shook his head. "Got to be some sort of record."

His thumb moved down Rusty's hand to the knuckles, kneading each in turn. "A hand is a very valuable commodity, Mr Ryan. Very delicate. Full of little pressure points. Did you know that?"

Rusty was silent. His hands were his livelihood.

"All the little bones and tendons…" the thumb was continuing to knead, digging a little bit deeper as it went. "So fragile. So vulnerable."

Without warning, he bent the little finger back on itself. Rusty stifled a yell. Vincente watched his face with dispassionate interest.

"Very good," he approved. "I can see I'm going to find you intriguing."

Slowly, deliberately, he bent each finger back in turn, stretching the tendons each time till Rusty had to break his gaze and screw up his eyes to try and shut out the fire shooting up his arm.

"There's an art to this," Vincente commented as he worked on the index finger. "You need to know just the point at which the tendons or bones will snap."

He looked at Rusty's face.

"Think I'm getting the balance right," he said mildly.

Rusty's jaw was clenched and he could feel the sweat breaking out on his back. Vincente dropped his hand and Rusty flexed his fingers in spite of himself. Vincente might have declared no sadistic interest and just simple objectivity but he was not wholly convinced. Then, Vincente smiled and with disbelief, Rusty read complete equanimity. Maybe he had been telling the truth after all.

"Time to get serious," Vincente said. He turned to his colleagues. "Tie him."

Rusty was pulled upright and his hands secured behind his back with rope. Testing the knots, he knew he wasn't going anywhere and glancing at the colleagues blocking the route to the door, he knew he wasn't even going to try.

"I feel I'm going to need to spell things out for you, Mr Ryan."

Vincente took the chain hanging loosely from the nearest hook and fastened it through Rusty's bonds. Rusty's mouth was full of the metallic taste of adrenaline and apprehension because he knew exactly what was coming next.

"Up," Vincente ordered.

Rusty braced himself as he felt the chain slowly tighten, pulling his arms up behind him at an impossible angle, higher and higher, till his feet left the ground - only a few agonising feet from the ground - and his weight pulled him down, pulled down on his shoulder sockets and excruciating pain hit him in a rush. An inarticulate string of expletives fell from his lips. It felt as if every ligament, every muscle in his arms were ablaze.

How long he hung there he couldn't say; time just melted into the very immediate present. Then the chain slackened and he slipped heavily to the ground, to his knees, smacking against the concrete, kneeling there, digesting the wave, letting it recede and managing it.

"I study pain, Mr Ryan," Vincente said pleasantly as if they were chatting over dinner. "This particular method has been around since the Inquisition at least. Still effective today. No physical signs. Nothing to show the authorities. Doesn't stop the agony, though, right?"

Rusty kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, breathing heavily, not trusting himself to speak because that had been right up there with Eddie Lavelle.

"Another means of persuasion which leaves no real external evidence," Vincente picked up a thin, wicked-looking little cane from the side of his chair and Rusty regarded it with deep suspicion.

"Let me demonstrate," Vincente pulled the chain to one side and brought it down hard on the bare soles of Rusty's feet.

Rusty yelped at the unexpected pain. Vincente did it twice more then moved round to face Rusty. He ran his hand through Rusty's hair and pulled his head back, leaning down and in so that Rusty could see the clear grey of his eyes. Lucid, emotionless, ruthless as hell and nothing would move him, of that, Rusty was sure. Quite the worst kind of person you'd want to be at the mercy of…hands of, Rusty corrected himself, because mercy wouldn't ever come into it.

With a chill that he couldn't stop flooding through him, Rusty suddenly saw the mirror. Because Vincente was as implacable as he was, knew his own mind just as he did and was just as able to bring single-minded focus to bear. And that was a comparison he wished he hadn't been able to make.

"I can inflict this particular exquisite tenderness until you can hardly stand. Or I can carry on until you will never walk without a limp again. Do you believe me?"

"Yes," Rusty replied truthfully.

Vincente stared at him then let go of his hair and sighed. "Sadly for you, Mr Ryan, I believe you. I still can't take any short cuts. Up."

The chain tightened again and Rusty found he couldn't even try to fight the urge to cry out. It was intense, it was agony, it was impossible to ignore, there was no hiding place from this and God, would it never end-

Just when he thought his arms were sure to be pulled out of their sockets, when dislocation seemed inevitable, the chain slackened again and he sank back to the ground.

Vincente stepped in and wielded the cane once more, swiftly, efficiently, effectively. Rusty felt it bite viciously again and again into the soles of his feet and tried to hold on to the scream building inside him.

"Up," he heard.

The third time was unbearable.

The fourth time was unspeakable.

The fifth time was beyond words.

After that, he lost count.

* * *

He supposed he must have passed out. He came to in the back of the van as it stopped.

"Here," Vincente said, picking his shoes and socks off the van floor and putting them into his hands. "That's about as much as you'll feel like carrying for a while."

He stared at Rusty. "I can do worse," he said in a low voice. "And I will if you make me."

Through the haze of pain, Rusty held his stare.

"Get out," Vincente said, in a voice that suggested he did not like what he was seeing. "We'll pick this up again on Monday."

* * *

It took every bit of iron resolve for Rusty to walk up the steps to his hotel and in to the foyer. Sheer bloody-mindedness carried him across the carpet which felt as if it were made up of thousands of needles as opposed to the luxuriant finish it really consisted of.

"Mr Ryan?" It was Kirsty, who seemed to be choosing to ignore the fact that he was barefoot. Somewhere in the back of his mind came the thought that he must have done this before. "I've got some messages-"

"Later, Kirsty," he cut her off. He'd have to apologise to her another time. Now he was just focusing on staying upright.

He held himself up in the lift, not daring to slump because he was not – _not - _going to be crawling to his room. And then agonising step by agonising step, he made it to the door of his suite. He pressed down on the door handle and as the door swung open, the last part of inner grit melted and he collapsed through the doorway on to the floor, shoes and socks going flying.

"Call you back," he heard and Danny was there.

* * *

A/N: Sorry. Sorry. Strong stuff, I know. Sorry, again.


	10. Truth

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: I'm looking after him now, OK?

Chapter Nine: Truth

* * *

Danny saw Rusty drop to his knees and finished the phone call abruptly.

"Three hours. Where have you been?" he asked rhetorically, the angry relief showing as he moved to where Rusty had fallen to his knees. He took hold of Rusty's arm to pull him upright and dropped it as Rusty gave a short, sharp yell of pain.

Danny stared down at him for a moment, biting his lip and then swooped down in an easy movement and pulled Rusty up over his shoulder, ignoring the yelp. Kicking the door to, he turned and carried Rusty to his bed and deposited him gently on it, straightening up, breathing heavily.

"You need to work out," Rusty said through gritted teeth as he sat on the edge of the bed, resting his heels on the floor.

"You need to lay off the carbs."

He glared at him.

"You didn't answer your phone. And then, I found your car." He couldn't help himself. The last three hours had not been good.

"Sorry. Otherwise detained."

Danny looked into Rusty's eyes and read the thick, cloudy pain. He turned and headed for the kitchen, rooting round at the top of a cupboard until he found a selection of pain-killers. Selecting two that looked like horse pills, he poured a slug of whisky before heading back to Rusty. Water might be advisable but he could already see the _"Do I look like I care"_ from Rusty.

"Here," he pushed the medicine into one hand and the whisky into the other.

"I can't-" Rusty began and Danny cut across him.

"Take them and stop being so damn stupid!"

Inexplicably, Rusty started to laugh mirthlessly. He looked up at Danny.

"Not I won't," he said, spitting out the words, "I can't."

Danny blinked at him and then pulled the glass and the pills from Rusty's hands. Rusty sucked the pills one at a time from Danny's thumb and forefinger and then sipped the whisky. Danny wiped away the alcohol dribbling down Rusty's chin with his fingers.

He put the whisky to one side and squatted down in front of Rusty. "Tell me where."

"Feet. Shoulders," Rusty said shortly and the fact that he'd actually answered the question told Danny worlds.

Gently, Danny picked up Rusty's right foot and studied it. It looked swollen and sore but there was no skin broken. His glance travelled upwards. There were some seams gone on Rusty's jacket but no blood…

"Let's get you out of those clothes."

"Oh, your lines get better and better. No!" This last as Danny tried to lift Rusty's arm up. "No!" Rusty hissed as Danny tried the other arm. This earned Rusty an exasperated look.

"Fine," Danny said. "Have it your way."

He disappeared back into the kitchen and re-emerged with a pair of scissors.

"Danny!" Rusty protested.

"Hate to break it to you, Rus, but the suit's done for anyway," Danny said, brooking no nonsense and slicing it up the back. He pulled it off Rusty and then having removed the silver tie, attacked the shirt in the same way.

"The pants are fine," Rusty said warningly.

Danny was only half-listening. His eyes were all over Rusty. Smooth, perfect, unblemished skin: no burns, no lacerations, no bruises. He caught one of Rusty's wrists and grimaced as he saw the rope marks.

"Alright," he said, pulling a chair up. "Tell me. And don't even think about leaving anything out."

"They took me on the way back to the car," Rusty began, his voice weary.

"Vincente's men." It was obvious but it needed saying.

"Yeah. There was a van and a gun and-"

"And they left you barefoot."

"As a contessa. Whisky."

Danny helped him to another sip.

"Took me to some sort of warehouse. Meat-packing place." Rusty fell silent then sighed. "Vincente was waiting for a cosy chat." Without thinking, he flexed his left hand and suppressed the wince at the refracted pain further up his arm. It didn't go unnoticed by Danny.

_What did he do?_

Rusty realised and sighed again. "Little five finger exercise."

"Mmph," Danny bit his lip furiously. "What else?"

"Tied my hands behind my back."

Danny frowned because getting this sort of information out of Rusty was always as easy as taking the house.

"And?" He brought many years of friendship to bear in the look he gave him.

"There was a hook and a chain and they strung me up." The words came out in a run as Rusty bowed to the inevitable.

Danny found himself biting his lip again. Then his eyes widened.

"Your hands were behind you?"

Rusty didn't meet his gaze. "Yeah."

Danny felt his stomach turn as he pictured Rusty hanging, the strain of his full body weight, his arms bent back unnaturally… He leaned forward and studied Rusty's shoulders, running a hand lightly over the skin, feeling the tension and imagining the twisted ligaments. There were absolutely no external marks. The sign of a professional. He buried his mouth in his hand.

"And your feet?" He made himself ask, balling his hands into futile fists.

"Well, they let me down eventually."

"On to your knees," Danny could see where this was going.

"Some sort of whippy, little cane thing..."

"On your feet," Danny said tightly. _Rusty… _He stared at him and read the little bit of the story Rusty wasn't sharing.

"How many times?"

"Hmm?"

_Don't even think about lying._

"How many times?" Stern. Demanding. "How many times did they hoist you up into the air and leave you hanging there in agony then drop you to the ground and cripple your feet?"

"Lost count."

"Pain-killers working yet?"

"Kind of."

"Good, because I may start punching you if I don't get any straight answers." He straightened up. "Now tell me that you're going to drop this crusade."

Rusty stared down at the floor and Danny found the anger buzzing through him.

"He means to-"

"Yep."

"You know he's-"

"Yep."

"And you're not going to-"

"Nope."

"You're seriously not going to-"

"Nope."

The glare from Danny was near-volcanic. With difficulty, he suppressed his temper along with the urge to hit Rusty over the head and run off with him to Mexico for his own good. He leaned forward in the chair.

"You're not going anywhere," Danny warned, "and neither am I. Not until you tell me you're going to listen to reason and drop this, Rusty."

Rusty stared him out for a moment and then said in a low voice, "Right now, Danny, I am the only person standing in between Gino and a twenty year stretch inside for something he didn't do. He's about the age we were when we met and he'll come out near enough the age we are now. Twenty years, Danny. Twenty years."

"The kid had a choice," Danny went on. "He made his choice. He took the money. Now you need to decide what you're going to do."

There was a silence and incredulously, Danny saw the wrong answer forming in Rusty's eyes.

"You want to save him in spite of himself? Is that it?" He tried to bite back on the rage. "Help me understand, Rusty."

Rusty said nothing and now, he was looking anywhere but at Danny. "Maybe he…" he began and tailed off. "Maybe I…"

_Oh, to hell with hiding the anger. _"Maybe what, Rus? Maybe next time Vincente hurts you permanently? Maybe next time you don't come back to me at all?"

Rusty closed his eyes and Danny could see he was wrestling with something, something Danny didn't understand. Because this should be a cut and dried decision: it was surely about survival. Rusty opened his eyes again and the inner struggle emerged on to his face, travelling across his features until eventually, resignation emerged.

_Good, _Danny thought and then saw the quick, sad smile as Rusty read his thought and Rusty's next words showed him how very wrong he was.

"Just because he took the money doesn't mean he had a choice."

Hollow-voiced.

Sounding older than Danny had ever heard him.

And this time he looked at Danny and Danny finally got it.

This wasn't about Gino at all. This was about Rusty. This was about before, way before Danny. The days that Rusty didn't talk about, the days that Danny could only piece together from rare comments and occasional, uncommon reactions; the days that Danny knew something about but not all, never all. Because Rusty defined his life in very separate parts: and that particular part was locked away, just as his own spell of four years inside was, as dead time. Time when the other wasn't around to help; to be with; to share; to protect.

Looking at Rusty now, at the truth he was unwillingly revealing, Danny could only bear to hold his gaze for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to the floor, trying to work through the pointless feelings of fury; pointless, because it was about the past. Because once upon a time, Rusty hadn't had a choice either and there hadn't been anyone there to save him.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, trying not to think about it: impossible not to think about it. He opened them again to find Rusty watching him and waiting and looking and knowing and he saw the apology and he almost choked on that.

"I was just-"

"Don't say-"

"-a kid."

"Fuck, Rusty!" The words exploded from him. "Do you seriously imagine that helps?"

Rusty was silent.

Danny tried one last time. "He knows your name – your real name – and he knows where to find you."

Even as he said it, he knew Rusty knew he was going to give in.

Rusty shrugged automatically and winced. "I told you I know what I'm doing."

"But…" Danny tailed off as he realised what Rusty meant.

"It's only a hotel," Rusty said lightly. "Besides I hear the East Coast is attractive this time of year."

Danny sighed. Of course, Rusty would have an exit strategy lined up; just in case Terry Benedict came calling. Play the game like there was nothing to lose.

"I have to do this, Danny."

"I know." And he did and he understood. He still didn't have to like it.


	11. Memory

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: I've checked and I have no legal entitlement to either of them. Still hoping for a legacy from some relative I didn't know I had.

A/N: This takes place almost immediately after the last chapter.

Chapter Ten: Memory

* * *

In the kitchen, he poured the whisky and tried again not to think about what he'd been trying not to think about ever since he'd heard "Just because he took the money doesn't mean he had a choice". Ever since he'd looked into Rusty's reluctant eyes and seen exactly what that had meant.

The bottle chinked against the glass and he realised he'd closed his eyes as if by doing so, he could stop the images racing through his head. He opened them again and put the bottle carefully on the side, resting his forehead against an overhead cupboard and staring down at the amber liquid in the glass in his hand.

Rusty. On his own. Unavoidably beautiful and unprotected. Forced to- oh, he couldn't complete that thought. His mind supplied the picture though and he was idly aware of something flowing through his fingers as it did so. The glass was broken.

He mopped up the mess and disposed of the glass, grateful that his hand had come through the experience intact. And as he poured another whisky, he thought about what Gino meant to Rusty. The opportunity to save someone. To help them fight the inevitable.

The lethargy that he'd witnessed in Gino's neighbourhood came to mind and unwillingly, he found himself picturing Rusty, many years ago, in similar circumstances. But Rusty had had the intelligence and the instincts to know there was something else and Rusty had fought his way out.

And maybe the vitality that was Rusty, the energy and the intensity and the focus and the drive…maybe they were all enhanced because Rusty knew a time when everything had conspired to drain him of what made him him. A time when he had had to believe that there was a better way and all that he had had to back that belief up was himself.

Rusty: self-sufficient, alive and vivid and vibrant in a way that made others seem pale. Danny hated the thought of him existing alongside cloying indifference. But he'd done it. And he'd survived.

_

* * *

_

Dirty curtains hang at the open windows in the corridor and the air is thick with the smell of grease from the diner below. There is the noise of the street outside and somewhere someone is playing a radio with one ludicrous jingle after another.

_The door is all peeling paint and worn wood, neglected and uncared for. He looks at the door handle. He really, really doesn't want to open that door, to go into that room but he has to. _Has_ to. __Inside, there is musky sweetness as if someone were trying to cover up what is underlying; he can still smell what they're hiding…_

_MacAvoy is waiting with the broad smile that he badly wants to punch; the smile that makes his skin crawl. Better MacAvoy than not, an inner voice tells him, at least it's safe and clean, at least there's no violence…_

"_Good to see you again," MacAvoy says breezily. "Money's on the side."_

_He doesn't bother checking. It will be there. It will be correct. It always is._

_MacAvoy draws level with him and drops his voice, "New one. Could be a regular. Could be _your_ regular," he emphasises and the pressure in his chest increases. He doesn't trust himself to speak but he forces a little nod._

"_I'll away," MacAvoy says with his usual note of cheeriness and beams at the back of the room. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."_

_As the door closes behind MacAvoy, he waits, looking at the shadows at the back. Looking…waiting…_

"_Come here, boy, and let's get better acquainted," the voice says and he walks forward, readying himself, taking himself away. Because this isn't happening to him and this isn't him but if it happens too many more times, he fears it might be._

"You out of it?"

_Fuck, yeah._

"Awake." Staring at the ceiling, watching the memory play…he closed his eyes and pushed it back where it belonged.

* * *

Danny was in the doorway, painkillers in one hand, whisky in the other.

"Can you sit up?"

"I'll manage." He actually tried before yelping and falling back.

Danny shook his head and put the alcohol and the pills down on the side. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled Rusty into a sitting position, pillows behind him.

"Here."

As he fed him the painkillers and a sip of the whisky, Danny did his own silent diagnosis. The sharpness of the physical pain was dying. Probably only a remnant by morning. The ache would remain and there would be stiffness. It would be a couple of days before Rusty would be walking with anything approaching his usual grace; a couple of days before Rusty's shoulders recovered. That would be Monday. Just in time for court. Vincente had known what he was doing all right. Nothing to leave any marks as evidence. Nothing to show for the experience except the inner scars.

"Who were you on the phone to?"

"When?"

"Don't even bother," Rusty warned.

"Bobby," Danny confessed. "He's concerned, Rusty. He knows what Vincente's capable of."

"What did you tell him?"

Danny sighed. "I didn't explain about the jury service. I just said that you had had a chance encounter in the hotel restaurant with Vincente and that there had been a disagreement over the likely outcome of the trial. And that you were now missing."

_And don't think it wasn't hell._

_I know…I know._

"I phoned him back to call off the search party. Oh…and we've got more company arriving tomorrow."

"Tell me."

"Saul and Turk."

Possibly the most unexpected combination of names.

"Turk got a gig driving a limo over to Hollywood for a movie star and Saul hitched a ride."

"How did they know- why did they phone you?" Rusty asked suddenly. "You called Saul, didn't you? Damn it, Danny! I don't want Saul here!"

"Rusty-"

"Why did you call him?" Rusty looked furious.

"I didn't-"

"He doesn't know you're here! He would have called me. He would have-"

"He didn't. He did. He tried," Danny said patiently. "You weren't answering your phone."

There was a pause.

_Phone was on silent. _

_I guessed. _

"You want to change your voicemail?" Danny asked. "'Sorry, I can't come to the phone right now. I'm too busy being tortured'. Saul called the hotel and they put him through to me."

_Oh. _

_Oh._

_Sorry._

_I should hope so._

Rusty stared at the wall. "I don't want to see Saul," he said flatly.

"I know you don't." And there was no triumph in Danny's voice only sympathy. "You know what he's going to say."

"Is there any way-?" Rusty looked up but the hope was faint.

"Doubt it. He sounded excited to see us both again."

"Yeah. He would."

Danny looked down at him. "I ran a bath. Are you ready?"

"I guess."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly put his weight on his feet. Too soon, too soon, and he sat back down on the bed. Danny was there, arms outstretched, and Rusty pulled himself up, clinging on to Danny's elbows, putting all his weight on to Danny.

"Never figured I'd have you as a dance partner," Danny muttered as he supported him and they moved slowly to the bathroom.

"I want you to know, Fred, that I usually like to lead." Rusty's nails dug into his arms.

"I'm sure."

They reached the bathroom and Rusty sat on the edge of the bath with relief. Danny was looking at him with amusement.

_What?_

"You need a hand?"

Frowning, Rusty looked at him and realised.

"You always want to take my clothes off," he accused. "What is it with you?"

"Somehow it seems more natural for you to be naked," Danny retorted. "Do you want my help or don't you?"

Rusty gave in. "Yeah."

* * *

A little while later, Rusty was ensconced in bubbles and warmth. His feet had complained as they'd entered the water but they were adjusting. His shoulders seemed to welcome the heat even if he daren't move them naturally yet.

Danny was sitting on a chair alongside. With a box of chocolates. They had moved to the second layer.

"Not that one," Rusty said immediately as Danny's hand moved across the options. "Or that one."

_Remind me again. How long have I known you?_

_Sorry._

"Didn't think this morning I was going to wind up hand-feeding you chocolates."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Philadelphia," Danny smiled, remembering.

"Yeah. I was thinking about Tallahassee. We said we wouldn't mention Philly."

Mind racing on the one hand with drain covers and lost keys and on the other of finding Rusty rolled over and handcuffed by a girl called Tamsin, Danny shut him up with a chocolate. "Doubt this'll be the last time anyway."

Rusty let the strawberry crème melt on his tongue and thought back to the afternoon encounter.

"You know, the first time I saw Vincente, he was all about results. And with the fire alarms, it was the same. And I was looking and looking in his face, Danny. And when I saw him today, there was still no sign of you, thank fuck, but there was something else…"

"Remind you of someone?"

_Yeah._

"The way he's so self-contained, right? The way nothing shakes him? The way he keeps a little bit of himself back?"

Rusty looked at him, unblinking and Danny suddenly shut up.

"No," Rusty said eventually. "None of those. But thank you so much for sharing."

Danny pulled a face.

"What I was going to say was that he doesn't like to lose and most of all, that he leaves emotion at the door." Holding Danny's gaze, he put everything into his next words. "He frightens me. Please, Danny. Please go back to Tess."

With a sigh, Danny put the box of chocolates on the floor and tilted his head on one side.

"Look. I'm with you on Gino, Rus. I don't like it but I know why you have to do it and I know why I have to let you. No more arguments about that. So stop trying to send me away. Do we understand each other?"

It had been worth one last shot. "OK."

* * *

After the bath, he'd helped Rusty towel himself dry and into a pair of boxers and left him on the bed watching "Notorious" while he himself disappeared briefly for muscle rub and more chocolate.

"I hate this bit," Rusty said as he walked back through the door.

"Which bit?"

"When all she wants is for Dev to take her away from it all-"

"And he doesn't seem to care-"

"But inside he's dying a little bit-"

"Every time he sees her."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

_So…_

"Got this," Danny held up the carrier bag.

"Then get to work."

* * *

Rusty submitted to the firm but gentle fingers that applied the unguent carefully to his shoulders and arms, sensitive to the rawness of the underlying pain. It still didn't stop him yelping. When he'd done so and apologised for the fourth time, Danny stopped and leaned round him and looked at him.

"Do you want something to bite on?"

"Depends."

_Oh, you're feeling better._

"I was talking Hershey bars."

"Then the answer would be yes. Please."

Careful to keep the paper on the chocolate and his hands on the paper and the chocolate thus uncontaminated, Danny unwrapped a bar and held it out for Rusty to take a bite. He never underestimated the healing power of chocolate where Rusty was concerned.

When he'd finished rubbing the cream into Rusty's feet, ignoring the grimaces that he wasn't even looking directly at, he stood up.

"That's you done."

Rusty could feel the heat moving into his muscles. It was a strange feeling of comfortable discomfort. On the whole, though, he thought it would help.

"Thanks."

"I'm going to go and get cleaned up." Danny glanced over at his bed and back at Rusty's. He looked down at him. "You want me with you tonight?"

_Thanks._


	12. Arrival

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: none of them. You hear me? None of them.

Chapter Eleven: Arrival

* * *

It was morning. Danny stared up at the ceiling and thought about calling Tess. She deserved a call. It had been Tuesday when they'd last spoke and that was pretty near unforgivable. He'd phone her later. He just didn't know quite what he was going to say to her and he didn't want to answer questions and he certainly didn't want to mention Vincente. Because Tess would want him home, straightaway, don't pass "Go" and don't collect 200 dollars. But she still deserved a call.

As he had done so many times before, he turned on his side and looked at Rusty, wrapped in sleep. Rusty had slept fitfully, finding it difficult to get comfortable, pain catching at him. He'd ended up on his front, arms buried in a pillow, mussed up hair, the golden starting to peek through the mousy brown, lashes resting on his cheeks, lips slightly parted. He still looked young. He still looked beautiful. He still looked the same to Danny as he did when Danny met him even though Danny knew that was impossible. It was possible though that Rusty had some portrait tucked away somewhere that slowly decayed while he himself stayed forever young, forever golden.

Oh, there were a few lines of character on Rusty's face, of course. And now, the creases of laughter around the mouth and eyes, the traces of the perennial amusement, would always show. But Danny couldn't see the day coming when he saw Rusty wrinkled and grey and decrepit. Rusty's star burned fiercely and brightly and though he'd never say a thing to Rusty, there were times when he thought about Monroe or Dean and he had to force himself to bite back on that. Had to assure himself that they would indeed grow old disgracefully together.

Having Vincente in their lives seemed to make that assurance a little less likely.

* * *

Rusty woke to the smell of bacon and pancakes and syrup. He forgot and made to sit up.

Hearing the long string of expletives, Danny stuck his head round the door.

"Take it easy, Clark Kent," he admonished.

He crossed to the bed and held out his hands. Rusty reached up and gripped Danny's wrists and pulled himself up with a wince.

_How you feeling?_

_Fine._

There was a look.

"Little stiff." Rusty amended. He flexed his toes.

"Feet feel better," he added hopefully. He put some more weight on them. Mistake, mistake… He grabbed Danny's arms again.

"Not happening overnight, Rus."

Between them, they manoeuvred Rusty into a bathrobe and out and into a chair. The table was full of food, some of it Danny's ever-patient suggestion as to what might constitute a healthy diet – including a glass of orange juice with a straw - but most of it was made up of Rusty's favourites. Rusty looked up appreciatively: Danny had been busy.

"Figured we kind of forgot to eat last night. Apart from the chocolate." He threw a look at Rusty. "You cannot live on chocolate, Rus."

"So you keep telling me." Rusty was busy carefully loading a plate with pancakes, butter and golden syrup, his movement limited and cautious but at least better than the previous night. He caught sight of Danny's face. "What?" He indicated the plate. "No chocolate."

Shaking his head, Danny dished up some bacon and tomatoes and there was a silence as they ate, Rusty managing to keep the distance between his hand and his mouth as short as he could, partly because of the solid ache flaring in his shoulder muscles, partly to increase the rate of food intake.

"What time are Saul and Turk arriving? And how much do they know?" Rusty asked as he pushed the empty plate to one side.

It was always better to be clear about these things up front and have one's story straight.

"Saul said mid-morning. And he called when you were missing but before I knew you were missing. So not much is the answer."

Rusty was silent for a moment then began, "You think we could-"

"Can you convince Saul you're unhurt?" Danny cut in.

He considered and then reluctantly shook his head.

"There's your problem right there."

"I know," Rusty sighed. "I still want to give it a try."

_OK… _Danny studied him and saw the pain starting to ebb through. "Time for more pain-killers."

Rusty opened his mouth expectantly and Danny was halfway to feeding them to him when he stopped, hand in mid-air.

"You just ate breakfast," he pointed out. "All by yourself."

"Did I?" The innocence was perhaps a tad overdone.

Danny put the medicine down on the table. "Bet you were holding out for another round of chocolate too."

"Maybe. Kind of hoping for more of the muscle rub."

_Eat your pills._

Rusty picked up the pain-killers and with an effort got them in his mouth, washing them down with orange juice. "About Saul, about when he and Turk get here…"

"Yeah."

"We need to-"

"Yeah. We do."

* * *

"Hey, Saul, where are you?"

"In a taxi. Just a couple of blocks of away. We should be with you in-"

"Actually, can you ask the driver to drop you off at the pizza parlour just before the hotel? Same side as the hotel? It's called-"

"Luigi's Pizza Place."

_Original._

"Luigi's Pizza Place. I'll meet you there and we can pick up lunch."

"Lunch…" Danny could imagine Saul's eyebrows raised in slight dismay. "Very well. Luigi's it is."

Danny hung up and looked over at Rusty. They'd found a loose-sleeved white cotton shirt that Rusty had winced and forced his arms into and some sweatpants. Now he was sitting at the table with four empty glasses and a bottle of champagne. He glanced at the bottle and then up at Danny who sighed, reached over and with an expert turn of the wrist, opened it and poured it out.

"Alright. I'll collect them and bring them up in the service elevator. We should be here in about twenty minutes." He saw Rusty's look. "Thirty minutes," he corrected, "allowing for pizza collection time."

"Have you-?"

"Do not disturb," Danny nodded. "Though they know I brought you breakfast. Someone called Mel's eyes were very round."

Rusty smiled. "Thanks for the warning."

Danny's face grew serious. "You ready?"

_Yeah._

"OK, then."

* * *

Danny had said his hellos to Saul and Turk and they had collected the pizzas, admired the front of Rusty's hotel and taken the "convenient" delivery entrance, ostensibly so that Danny could show them the backstage view of operations. Turk had seemed genuinely interested. Saul's attitude had been polite but increasingly disengaged and the hairs on the back of Danny's neck had started to rise.

He got the pair of them, their bags and the pizzas to Rusty's room with no one seeing and opened the door with a flourish.

"Saul! Turk!" Rusty was seated at the table, glass in hand and a warm smile on his face.

Oh, it was good. Danny had to admit it was good. The distraction of the dazzle at full wattage. The genuine warmth. And probably all they had to worry about was that it was Saul on the receiving end. Danny flashed hopeful encouragement across at him.

Saul looked at the poured champagne and he looked at Rusty. Danny could see the slightest strain appear on Rusty's face as he withstood the scrutiny.

"It's good to see you again, Rusty," Saul said quietly. "Stand up, why don't you?"

"Sure, Saul," Rusty said easily.

He pushed the chair back and stood up, smile still warm, expression still open. Behind Saul's back, Danny screwed an eye up in sympathy. It was going to go very bad very quickly.

"Come here and tell me you missed me," Saul went on.

"Sure, Saul," Rusty said again and this time the smile was a little less warm and a little more desperate as he casually walked a couple of steps closer to Saul.

Danny grimaced. The only person in the room this act was likely to fool-

"Rusty!" Turk was beaming. "It's been too long!"

And Danny could see what was about to unfold; he could see that Rusty could also see; and neither of them could stop it.

Several things happened at once. Turk strode forward, grabbed Rusty's right hand in a firm shake and clapped him in a friendly manner on the right shoulder. Hard. Rusty let out an almighty yell that made Turk drop his hand in shock. Rusty's legs gave way and his usual surefootedness temporarily AWOL, he couldn't regain his balance. He hit the carpet face first and jarred his shoulders, crying out again, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.

Dropping the pizza boxes to the floor, Danny had been moving the second he realised what was going to happen. He still couldn't get to Rusty in time to break his fall. He knelt down and exchanged a glance with Rusty.

_You know the whole "convince Saul" thing? I could be wrong but I don't think you've pulled it off._

_Oh, you think?_

Mustering as much dignity as he could, Rusty allowed Danny to help him up and back into his chair.

"Jeez, Rusty! All I did was say hello!" Turk looked distraught.

With a shake of his head at Turk to show he wasn't upset, Rusty reluctantly looked across at Saul.

"A cloak-and-dagger entrance, flat champagne that's been poured a while and you, pretending you're fine and dandy. How bad is it?"

"It's not that-"

"Robert," Saul said warningly.

Rusty sighed. "It's a little bad."

Saul's eyes went to Danny.

"It's a lot bad," Danny admitted, ignoring the face Rusty pulled.

"Tell me."

"Tell us," Turk urged. "But over pizza, right?"

* * *

"Jury service?" Turk said for the third time and dissolved into laughter yet again as Rusty nodded.

"So that I'm clear," Saul said slowly. "There's a kid who's accused of killing another kid in a case that's Mob-related-"

"Indirectly Mob-related," Rusty corrected.

"Forgive me," Saul's eyes were sharp. "That involves, to quote Bobby, a freelance Mob enforcer called Vincente…" he broke off to check his facts with Danny who nodded, "…called Vincente who wants to make sure this kid, Gino, goes away. And who is prepared to administer some strong chastisement to anyone foolish enough to disagree with him."

"About the long and the short of it," Danny agreed.

Saul's eyes were boring into Rusty. "And you want to go against Vincente because…?"

"Gino is innocent," Rusty said firmly.

"Good for you, Rusty," Turk approved. "How do we get him off?"

Danny was watching Saul and Rusty having a private conversation. Saul's displeasure was expressed by how thin his lips were. Rusty's discomfort manifested itself in his eyes which were endlessly flicking away and back again.

"Actually, Turk," Danny said thoughtfully, "I have an appointment this afternoon with one of the witnesses. We don't think she's been strictly truthful and we need to speak to her away from everything. I could use your help."

"Be glad to, Danny," Turk beamed, looking pleased that he was of immediate use.

Danny smiled. "Let's go out and find you a camera."

He caught Rusty's eye.

_Good luck._

The look Rusty shot him back told him how much luck he felt he needed.


	13. Absolution

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: sadly, nothing has changed since the last chapter.

A/N: as has been pointed out to me, just in case anyone thinks Rusty sounds cheap in this, please bear in mind the scene is set in the very late Seventies. Not sure about the States but in the UK I'm pretty sure we were still making public phone calls for five pence.

Chapter Twelve: Absolution

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind Danny, Rusty started to wish he had the power to turn invisible so that he could slip out of the room after him.

Danny had stood in the doorway and said to Saul, "He needs another dose of pain-killers about now. And he didn't sleep well the past two nights so he may-"

"I understand."

"I'm sat right here," Rusty had pointed out. The pair of them had ignored him.

He'd seen Danny say _Go easy on him _to Saul and once more Danny had looked over and yet again apologised with his eyes for leaving him to the inevitable. Then Danny had ushered Turk out and Rusty and Saul were left alone.

"Here." Saul pushed two tablets at him and a glass of water and Rusty knew better than to disobey.

"How long you been sitting there anyway?" Saul asked gruffly. "You want you should move to the couch?"

Rusty nodded and carefully stood. Saul held an arm out to steady him and Rusty took it. When he had collapsed on to the softness, he saw Saul take up residence in an easy chair opposite.

"Now. We have all the time we need. And you are going to explain it to me."

Right. And how Rusty wished he could run and hide.

"Gino didn't do it, Saul," he began. "I could tell that the first time I looked at him. He didn't do it and he's going to go down for it. And it doesn't matter that he's been paid to take the fall. He's still innocent."

"Not good enough." The words came back like bullets and Rusty almost flinched.

He tried again. "It's twenty years inside, Saul. Twenty years of being locked up in…"

He couldn't begin to describe it. Every time he tried to imagine prison, he got lost in words like "routine" and "oppression" and "soul-destroying" and he'd never know how Danny had coped for four years: it would have eaten him from the inside out.

"Twenty years, Saul," he managed. "That's a lifetime."

"It's not your life," Saul said and the words were hard. "And it's not worth the risk."

Neither of them had gone into details about the delights Vincente had introduced him to the previous evening. Saul knew enough to get the picture; Vincente meant business.

"Saul, it's up to me if I choose to-"

The glare from Saul cut him off.

"What about Danny?"

And Rusty felt the three words hit well below the belt. He dropped his gaze.

"I've tried to send him home."

"He won't go."

"No."

"And Vincente knows he's your friend." Relentless.

"Yes."

"At the very least he's going to think he's your friend."

"Yes."

"At the very most he's going to know about you. If he's that good, Rusty. If he can read you like you say. If he can sum you up and know when you're lying and if he can look at your face and know how much pain to inflict."

Rusty said nothing. He bit his lip.

"He won't understand it. People don't. But he'll use it, Rusty. He'll use it and you'll find Danny taking the punishment on your behalf."

Rusty tasted blood.

"How will it feel, Rusty?"

It would feel like death. It would feel like hell. It would be worse than anything he'd ever experienced. And Saul knew it.

"So tell me," and Saul's voice was suddenly gentle. "Tell me why."

Rusty looked up at him, his eyes full of the pain of what might be and he said simply, "I need to do this, Saul. I need to let Gino know that life can be surprising. For the right reasons."

He saw Saul's face change. He saw him look away and close his eyes. And he knew he didn't have to say any more. Because once upon a time Rusty hadn't had a choice either and there hadn't been anyone there to save him. No one except Saul.

* * *

It was later. Rusty had fallen asleep on the couch and Saul had tucked a throw around him. He watched him breathing shallowly but sleeping soundly and he shook his head. He'd been sure he was going to win the argument and Rusty had just blown him out of the water.

_

* * *

_

It was an overcast September afternoon. Saul sat with a coffee at the window of the diner and idly looked across the street. There was a young man, barely a man, dressed in faded jeans and a zipped up top, collar pulled high, head buried in a red cap. He was leaning against the wall doing his best to be invisible and watching the entrance to the diner.

_A brief rainburst exploded and passers-by scurried along, pulling coats around them, battling with umbrellas. Saul saw the young man pull his cap off and stand with his face upwards, eyes closed, letting the water run over his features, as if he were standing in the shower. _

_The rain stopped and he ran his hands through his blond hair and shook off the water droplets. He dug out a handkerchief and wiped it over his face. In that moment, Saul saw him properly and caught his breath: he was overwhelmingly beautiful._

_Cap back on his head, hunkered down in the collar of the top, the boy saw whoever he was waiting for and headed towards the diner moving with an unusual poise and grace. Saul watched him enter, followed by a middle-aged man with a wide smile. As they got closer, Saul could see the man's eyes as they tracked the youth in front of him. There was no lasciviousness in his look: instead, there was a bright, mercenary edge; this man was all about the money._

"_Two espressos and a plate of toast," the older man ordered from the counter as he walked past._

_They took seats at the table in front and to the left of Saul, the young man facing him. Saul watched the conversation covertly._

"_So, how are you keeping?" The man with the very wide smile asked._

"_Fine. Just fine." The boy's voice was tight and controlled. So was his face. He was giving nothing away._

_The waitress brought the coffees and the toast and Saul watched as one of them grabbed a slice of toast and the other silently ladled four sugars into the small espresso cup._

"_Got a possible for you tonight," the older man said as the butter dripped down his chin. "If you're interested, come by about eight, OK?"_

"_Eight." Sipping the coffee and watching the other start in on the second and last piece of toast. _

"_He's asking for a type. Figure I'll show him a few, let him choose."_

"_Sure."_

"_Although if you ask me? I think once he's seen you, he'll have to have you."_

_It was said by way of encouragement and he didn't seem to notice the way the boy's fingers tightened on the coffee cup. Saul did, though._

_The toast gone, his message passed on, the older man gulped down his coffee._

_"See you later," he beamed and exited, throwing a few dollar bills on the counter and clicking his teeth appreciatively at an indifferent waitress._

_The young man stared off into space for a moment or two and then down at his coffee. He drained the cup and got to his feet. As he stood up, he became aware of the scrutiny and he turned a cool, blue gaze in Saul's direction._

"_If you're interested, you need to talk to MacAvoy," he said flatly._

_Interested..? _

"_I'll have you know I'm a happily married man!" Saul exclaimed and then saw the humourless smile on the boy's face. Of course, that fact alone might not actually preclude him from being a prospective customer. _

"_I assure you, I'm not interested in that way," Saul said hastily and watched as the gaze turned gimlet-sharp as if the truth were being sought._

"_Just curious, old man?" _

"_Yes and no. I mean, I heard…and I can see…"_

"_No pity," said the boy, and he could not have fitted more ferocity into the two words. _

_Saul sat back in his chair. _

"_No pity," he agreed with respect. _

"_I know what I'm doing."_

_Saul looked at the face with the inert beauty and the eyes, by contrast full of intelligence and life and indeed full of the knowledge of what he was doing, what was being done to him and where it was all headed. Saul came to a sudden decision._

"_Take a seat, son."_

"_I told you, I know what I'm doing, I don't want your pity and I don't deal direct. You want me, you talk to MacAvoy."_

"_I just want to talk. And buy you a meal. You look like you could do with it."_

_The gaze was on him again and then the boy made his mind up and swung himself down in the chair opposite in one easy, graceful movement. _

_Saul signalled the waitress to come over._

"_What do you want to eat?" he asked and the hesitation on the boy's face caught at him. It was a question he'd obviously not heard too often._

"_Slice of cherry pie?" he asked looking up at the waitress and across at Saul._

_The waitress's head was bent over her notebook but Saul nodded._

"_With cream, hon?" _

"_Yeah."_

"_Anything to drink?"_

_His eyes flicked back to Saul who gave a small gesture as much as to say "Order what you like"._

"_Strawberry milkshake?"_

"_Sure." She turned to Saul. "Anything else?"_

"_That'll do."_

_Saul watched and waited as the boy ploughed through the heavy-looking dessert and the thick pink gloop as if all his Christmases had come at once. Only when he had finished, did Saul reach across the table and hold out his hand._

"_Saul Bloom," he introduced himself._

_The boy looked at Saul, then at the hand and cautiously reached over and shook it briefly._

"_Rusty Ryan."_

"_Your parents called you Rusty?" It seemed unlikely._

"_My parents called me Robert Charles. Rusty's just…" he tailed off._

"_A name MacAvoy gave you?" Saul guessed._

"_No." The gimlet gaze was back on him. "MacAvoy isn't about names. Rusty's…Rusty's just something I got stuck with when I was young."  
_

_Saul nodded, inwardly multi-thinking that Rusty was still young and that MacAvoy was indeed not about names. He was about exploitation. He was about making money from misery. He was about labelling young men as meat. But he was not about names, about identity, about someone being a person in their own right. Carefully, Saul stretched his fingers and let some of the tension dissipate._

"_You want my life story?" Rusty asked and there was aggression in his voice. "Is that the price for this meal? Shall I tell you the whats and the whens? 'Cos I'll be honest, I don't know the whos. And if you don't know the how and the why then…"_

"_No," Saul said firmly. This wasn't about prurience. "Look, I understand that life can screw you over. I know that choices can be limited to very last resorts. And I can tell you that the last thing I planned to do when I sat down here for a coffee is what I'm about to do."_

_Completely lost, Rusty frowned at him._

_Saul leaned in. "I want to help. I want to show you that sometimes life can be surprising for the right reasons. I want to let you know that not everyone is like MacAvoy."  
_

_Still frowning, Rusty said slowly, "How can you help? What do you want to do? Take me away from it all?"_

_Saul nodded. _

"_You're not serious."_

"_I'm in town for the next three days. I'll come here at this time for the next three days. If you want to come back home with me, come and find me and let me know."_

"_Come home with you?" The incredulity and the distrust were rife._

"_I told you," Saul said patiently. "I'm happily married to a wonderful woman who-"_

"_Who would understand and forgive and welcome-"_

"_Yes," Saul said simply. "She's that sort of woman."_

_He calmly returned the piercing gaze._

"_Why?" The 64 thousand dollar question._

_Saul shrugged. "Many reasons. I hate to see beauty trapped and dying. I particularly abhor people like MacAvoy who prey on the innocent. But more than anything, when I look at you I can see the aptitude for so much more than you are currently engaged in. You have brains. You're blessed with good looks and grace. And those facts can get you a long way in life."_

_He opened up his wallet and said matter-of-factly, "What does MacAvoy charge and what do you get paid?"_

"_Thirty dollars," came the equally matter-of-fact response. "I get twenty."_

_Saul handed over sixty. "This is for tonight and the next two days. Take your time. Decide. If you want to, come back and find me."_

_Rusty picked up the money and pocketed it with a speed that made Saul smile inwardly. The boy looked like he had natural hands. The blue eyes were all over Saul again._

"_I'm going to get out of it," he said fiercely. "It's only short-term. It's not forever."_

"_No," and Saul could see the fire in him that meant that was true. But later and it would be more difficult and later and there would be more damage. And the boy looked like he knew details but had no real plan._

_They held each other's gaze for a moment._

"_You're crazy," Rusty whispered._

"_Probably," Saul agreed._

_Without another word, Rusty rose and left. Saul watched him go and then remembered the dreadful things imprisoned in those eyes and felt his heart crumple._

_He'd appeared on the third day when Saul had pretty much given up hope._

"_Alright, old man," he'd said. "I'll give you the benefit."_

* * *

He'd saved a soul when he'd taken Rusty home. It sounded dramatic but it was simple truth. And he couldn't deny Rusty the chance to do the same.

* * *

A/N: Oh, long chapter again, I'm sorry. Have deep fear of people giving up halfway through. :)


	14. Unease

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Saul? Turk? Danny? Rusty? Just borrowing.

Chapter Thirteen: Unease

* * *

He knew he was dreaming. The door was wrong for a start. Not nearly dirty enough. And walking through it, he found everything pristine and shiny, just like one of his hotel rooms. MacAvoy was standing just inside, familiar, welcoming smile full of putrescence, but he himself seemed to be an observer, there but not there, and that was new.

The bed was familiar. Faded, worn linen…and the pattern of little roses on the counterpane was one he doubted he'd ever forget. How many times had he counted them?

Then he looked up and saw Vincente, smiling with grey eyes that never looked likely to know anything but calm and intent; eyes that knew only logic and eventuality and the best way to hurt someone. He was kneeling on the bed and he was holding a knife in one hand and the other hand, the hand without the tattoo, was wrapped in a familiar head of dark hair, pushing it down into the mattress.

"I can do worse," he heard Vincente say softly. "And I will if you make me."

And he pulled Danny's head up and before Rusty could say anything, before he had time to exchange more than a dozen thoughts with Danny of guilt and forgiveness and goodbye, Vincente slit his throat. Danny fell on to the bed, lifeless, and the blood oozed out over the roses and Rusty thought it likely his heart might stop then and there and then-

"Rusty, Rusty…" Saul was there.

And Rusty was taken back to his early days with Saul. The days of learning to accept trust, of daring to think there was someone to care, of understanding there was someone with only altruism as a motive.

_The first night, he'd sat down at a table laden with food and asked, "You want me to go to church or Bible classes or something?"_

_Saul's laughter had been rich and loud and his wife, Annie, had been equally uninhibited. He'd joined in, not understanding but liking the sound of laughter. And later when he did understand, he'd laughed again._

_The second day, Saul had taken him shopping for clothes. He'd stood and run his fingers over some silk shirts with wonderment and then he'd turned and picked out some jeans and Ts and earned a poignant little smile from Saul for his practicality. (The silk shirts had made a later appearance as a Christmas present)._

_The third day, he'd watched Annie doing a jigsaw and when she'd smiled and invited him to help her, he'd done just that. In fact, he'd finished it. It was peculiarly satisfying for him to see the big picture materialising as all the little pieces fell into place._

_The fifth day, he'd watched Saul and a pack of cards, playing twenty-one. He'd sat in for a few hands and Saul had looked at him curiously._

_"Are you counting?" he'd asked. "The cards, I mean. Are you working out how many high cards are left?"_

_He'd frowned. "Is it wrong?"_

_"It's…unusual."_

_He'd shrugged. "It's easy."_

_And Saul had worn the biggest smile._

_That night he'd sat in the bath with the bubbles and tried to make sense of it all._

_After a week, he'd stripped off and sat on Saul's bed, waiting. Speechless, Saul had stood in the doorway, looking at him_

_"If you want me, just tell me. If you want me to work for you, just tell me," he'd said in a low voice. Then he'd studied the carpet. "I-I can't bear the not knowing."_

_Gently, Saul had picked up Rusty's clothes strewn in a tidy mess on the floor and pressed them into his hands, telling him that he would never, ever want him in that way and that he'd never, ever want him ever to work like that ever again._

He'd slowly been convinced by Saul and he'd slowly convinced himself that it was alright to respond. It had taken a while.

The nights, though… The nights were when his fears and his pain and the horror reached out to smother him. He'd wake up and lie sweating, find his mouth bleeding where he'd been biting his lip to stop himself from crying out, and all the time seeing faces and eyes and hands that he wanted to forget.

Saul hadn't asked. He'd guessed, Rusty knew that, but he hadn't asked, not once. On the occasions when the nightmares were all too strong, Rusty would find him at his side, shaking him awake, taking him out of the slough he was mired in.

Yes, Saul knew some. Not as much as Danny; Danny who had been with him, lived with him, been part of him for so long that it would have been impossible for him not to know more. But Saul knew some. Saul knew different parts of the story. And most importantly, he knew the name.

"Rusty, it's OK," Saul said as he perched precariously on the edge of the couch and smiled down at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah…" _If dreaming of Danny murdered could ever count as alright._

Saul's eyes narrowed. "Tell me you weren't back with MacAvoy."

Rusty swallowed. Even after all this time, he couldn't deal well with the name being said aloud.

"Not exactly." He looked at Saul and felt a new and old fear and a danger rising up within him and said in a cryptic rush. "Saul, Danny thinks I found you."

Saul blinked. It was a good job he spoke Rusty.

"Danny knows…"

"Oh, Danny knows some."

Danny had been there for some of the nightmares. And Danny knew how much he hated artexed ceilings and lampshades with green tassels weren't among his favourite things either. He'd stared at the man with the fish tattoo on his arm for so long that Danny had asked him outright and Rusty had shaken his head; it was similar; not the same. And Danny knew the need to eat stemmed from the times of less than plenty and wanting to take the taste of that away.

"Danny knows some," he repeated, "but he thinks I got out and found you. He doesn't know…"

"You would have got out," Saul assured him, reading some of what was behind Rusty's words. "I could see it in you. I was just a short-cut." He stared at Rusty. "But you know this. You know you had the drive and the instinct and the smarts to move on. You know you would have done it. Why not tell Danny the truth?"

Rusty looked up at him and there were traces of exhaustion and vestiges of pain and a hint of desperation seeded through his words.

"Because if he knew, he'd know you know details. And I can't have that, Saul. Don't give Danny a name." _The _name.

Saul understood the concern. "I promise."

* * *

Danny and Turk had driven for fifteen minutes before Danny realised Turk hadn't mentioned Virgil once. They'd shot the breeze generally and they'd talked about what Danny thought of as a ridiculously noble streak and what Turk thought of as integrity. Virgil hadn't come into the conversation.

He looked at Turk out the corner of his eye and thought how well and how easily he'd avoided the subject. Excellent at distraction. Even now Danny couldn't think what had made him realise. Probably the fact that he'd rarely been in Turk's sole company; he was so used to hearing him arguing with his brother.

"How's Virgil doing?" He came right out and asked.

Turk's face fell. "He's fine."

"What's he up to?"

There was a pause and a silence and a sigh. "He's got a girl."

"He has?"

"Yeah." And there was a wealth of feeling in that word. Turk didn't like being on his own.

"Is it serious?"

"Asked her to marry him," Turk said dolefully.

"It happens," Danny said reasonably. "It could happen to you. And it still means you can go…"

Somewhere he could hear Rusty suggesting _Cow-tipping? _

"…and do things together. Being married doesn't mean you cut someone close out of your life."

"Bet you said all that to Rusty. Both times."

_Ouch. Very ouch. _

"Rusty-" Danny began and then stopped.

_Rusty understands_ was what he'd been about to say. But he hadn't at the start, Danny knew that. It had taken…yeah. It had. Danny's mouth tightened. There was no reason why Turk would come round any sooner than Rusty and every reason why it would take longer. Because the connection he had with Rusty worked on some sort of super-speed-of-light-broadband level and Rusty had looked and known that Danny still felt the same way about him. That that would never change. That nothing could ever change it.

Turk and Virgil on the other hand operated through the bickering rather than the banter. They buried their feelings just as effectively but behind a façade of snipes and pettiness instead of quips and playfulness. They needed and cared for each other but they were never going to be that explicit and looking for reassurance in a cheap comeback was different to knowing someone completely and never needing to ask.

And someone coming in between them was certainly going to take a bit of adjustment.

"You'll get there," Danny said eventually. "You'll both get there. You can't wipe out what you have. It just takes-"

"-time. Yeah." And Turk sounded as if he didn't really believe. Oh, Danny was going to have to get Rusty to work on him.

"Here we are," he said, pulling up outside of Shelleys. "You know the story?"

"Sure," Turk waved a dismissive hand and picked up the camera. "Let's go."

* * *

In a move that was quite atypical, Vincente punched the floor.

He'd gone straight from the warehouse to a quick round trip to Frisco, helping to convince a wayward gang member of the error of attempting a double-cross. He'd got in at nine o'clock in the morning and he'd hit the shower and the bed and slept like a baby.

Now, it was mid-afternoon. His eyes had opened five seconds before the alarm had sounded on his watch. Despite the fact that it was several hours later than usual, he'd followed his normal routine, pulled on some sweatpants and embarked on a twenty minute session of Tai Chi. Vincente enjoyed the discipline, the combination of rigour and power contained in deliberate movements. He liked the feeling of absolute control, feeling the energy rise from the balls of his feet, travel up through his body, purging tension, leaving him feel revitalised. It helped him maintain an inner peace.

Today, he'd misstepped almost immediately. He'd started again, concentrating, calculating, drawing in on himself, focusing, feeling the oneness building and he started to move. Graceful, composed, elegant moves, balletic and powerful. This time he lasted until he tried to do the second set of "Step Back and Repulse Monkey" four times instead of three and then he'd sat down on the floor, panting and externalised his frustration. All was not well.

He knew the reason, of course. Robert Ryan. He shook his head. Last night, Vincente believed he'd personally been professional and efficient, well up to his usual standards. Just as he had all the way through this particular exercise. According to everything, Ryan should by now be ready to agree to do what he wanted. So why wasn't he?

Vincente thought back to Ryan's arrival the previous night and how he'd stood there blinking, adjusting to the light, acclimatising himself to the environment. How he'd kept up the banter. How well he'd managed the pain. He'd pushed him a little further than he'd planned to which was unusual but necessary because Ryan's response was so damn controlled. Not too far, of course, because he was a man of his word and besides which, it would defeat the object entirely for Ryan to be hospitalised.

The look in the van afterwards as Ryan had come round had been one of pure, raw defiance, even though he'd been suffering mightily and with difficulty, Vincente had buried his anger.

He'd threatened his hotel. He'd threatened him. And Ryan knew they weren't empty threats. Was there something he was missing? What was it Ryan was afraid of? Because…oh…suddenly, a new piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Vincente thought back to last night. When he'd first arrived, there had been a flash of relief in Ryan's face. Just for a moment. Just for a second. Relief…This hadn't been the first time he'd experienced physical punishment. _How many times? _Vincente wondered. _And who got heavy with hotel owners anyway?_ So…the relief…something was missing. Something…some fear that he hadn't found…

Vincente checked his watch and frowned. He was booked on to a flight to New York to resolve a territorial dispute. He'd agreed, partly because you didn't say no unless you really had to – that's what self-employment meant – and partly because however good you were, you certainly didn't say no to the people who were asking – that's what survival meant – but mostly because when the call had come through, he'd been convinced he'd have this matter tied up.

He sighed. Well, NYC was not something he could get out of. Hopefully, it would be a quick kill and then he could climb back on the plane to Los Angeles and give this case and Robert Ryan his full attention.

Resolved, he rose to his feet and executed the entire step sequence flawlessly.


	15. Digging

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: oh, so not mine.

Chapter Fourteen: Digging

* * *

They were on their second cup of coffee when Anna-Mae walked in. Danny had nudged Turk who was busy perfecting a balancing act with teaspoons and they stood up politely.

Anna-Mae looked like she'd made the effort. Her hair was curled, her face made-up and she was wearing a pretty dress that showed off her figure. Danny understood immediately why she'd wanted to wait to talk to him.

"Anna-Mae? I am so grateful you could join us. Please have a seat."

She slid in opposite Turk and as they sat down, Danny gave her his best winning smile.

"I didn't have a chance to properly introduce myself yesterday. I'm Charles Hennessey and I'm with the Tribune. This is-"

"Joey Callahan," Turk reached over and took Anna-Mae's hand, pressing it briefly to his lips.

It appeared to be the right thing to do. She giggled and reluctantly pulled her hand free.

"We just wanted to chat to you about this case and-"

"Maybe take your picture," Turk interrupted, holding up the camera with a grin and Anna-Mae giggled again.

"Can I get you a drink?" Danny asked and then waited, notepad at the ready, till the requested hot chocolate arrived.

Anna-Mae sipped it delicately and looked under her lashes at Turk.

"You want to tell us about that night?" Danny asked gently.

"It was all so horrible," she said and there was a waver in her voice that Danny read as completely genuine. "Marcello and I were having a drink in the bar and just talking. You know…"

She looked over at Turk who nodded encouragingly.

"He'd had such a good day at work. His boss had been so pleased with this wreath he'd done for a big funeral."

She sighed. "Then he got into this silly argument with Gino."

"How did it start?"

"Oh, it was so ridiculous! Marcello had stepped away from the bar for a moment."

_To use the euphemism._

"And Gino came in and ordered a drink. They seemed to know him in there. Guess he's a regular. I was sat next to him and I noticed his hands."

"His hands?" Danny frowned.

"I'm a manicurist," she went on. She glanced up at Turk under her lashes again. "I'm going to have my own salon one day."

"I just bet you are, miss," he smiled and she smiled back.

"Anyway, Gino just had the most fantastic skin and his nails were immaculate. Like he really takes care of them."

"I know someone like that," Danny said drily. "It can take real dedication."

"I was just taking a professional interest in them when Marcello came back and…well, he didn't really understand."

No. Danny could see how Marcello might have had difficulty with the situation.

"He…he said some things to Gino and Gino said some things back and they got into a bit of a fight and then Gino hit him and he ended up on the floor. And the barman asked Gino to leave."

"Did he go?"

"Uh-huh. And Marcello and I carried on drinking."

So Gino had won the fight. Hardly a reason for him to lay in wait with a knife but he could be a convenient scapegoat for someone watching.

"Was there anyone else in the bar that night, Anna-Mae?"

"Sure. Few people round the bar, few people sat at tables."

"Would you recognise any of them again?"

"Doubt it," she said honestly. "It was really dark."

Danny looked at her. So far, he knew, she had undoubtedly been telling the truth. Time to move the story on.

"What happened when you left?"

Her eyes dropped down to the table. "It was all very sudden."

"You must have been very scared," Turk said understandingly and she flashed a smile at him.

"Oh, I was. He just came out of nowhere and he was so quick and Marcello hardly had time to scream and he grabbed at his arm and I didn't have time to scream either and then he was gone."

"Gino?" Danny wanted to hear her say it.

"Of course." But her eyes were everywhere but where they should be.

"You said that in court," he reminded her gently. "On the Bible."

"That's just a book." She looked up and her eyes were clear on this point.

"No, it isn't." The good little Mormon in Turk spoke up immediately. "That's the word of God, miss."

"But…it's just a book…" She was less certain now. "I asked and they said…"

"Who said?" Danny asked quickly but she closed up at once and looked with worry and concern at Turk.

"It's…is it…?"

"You take the oath, you're promising God you're going to tell the truth," he said solemnly. "And God sees everything."

Danny could have kissed him. The look on Anna-Mae's face was pure dismay.

"Are you alright?" Danny asked.

"I…I got some thinking to do," she said worriedly.

"OK…well, Joey and I know people…if it's anything we can help with…"

"No, no…"

Danny glanced meaningfully at Turk. "Tell you what, Anna-Mae, I just need to make a quick phone call. I'm going to step outside and leave you with Joey for a moment."

He closed the notepad on which he'd written precisely nothing and left the café. Something told him Turk was going to do just fine without him.

* * *

Saul had insisted on making him a sandwich and had bemoaned the state of his fridge.

"No bread, no meat…what do you live on? Honestly…"

"I manage, Saul."

Saul cast a disbelieving eye in his direction and seemed as put out as he always did when Rusty's general physique didn't disprove the statement. "Stay put. I'm going to get something healthy."

"No."

"You will eat some protein and vegetables-"

"No," Rusty was insistent. "You can't be seen, Saul. If Vincente's watching-"

"I'll be careful."

"After all the trouble we went to to smuggle you in here, you're not going anywhere."

They stared at each other and Saul gave in.

"What are we going to eat, then?"

"There's a bag of potato chips in the cupboard under the sink," Rusty suggested.

Saul almost shuddered. He looked glumly at Rusty.

"I'm a martyr to my constitution. You remember the ulcers, right?"

Rusty smiled. "I'll start apologising now."

* * *

"Tess."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone and Danny could hear the upset and the fury as well as the control going in to letting neither of them overwhelm her. She was definitely trying harder these days.

"Hi." The word was still angry and full of hurt and Danny grimaced. He never set out to injure Tess but somehow it seemed to happen as some sort of byproduct.

"Tess, I love you."

"On your own, then."

"Yeah."

There was another pause and then, "Tell me."

_Why he hadn't called?_ Danny thought briefly: Wednesday had been their first encounter with Vincente, Thursday had been the night of the false alarms, Friday had been…last night had been close to one of his worst nightmares. And he couldn't explain any of it in detail. He decided on a précis.

"Things have got complicated."

"You're not in trouble, Danny?"

The question was a little above a whisper and it caught at Danny because he read the worry and the concern and the love and he knew Tess had asked and wasn't really brave enough to deal with the wrong answer. She'd made herself ask anyway.

"No, Tess, I'm not in trouble."

"But Rusty is," she guessed.

"It's complicated," he said again. How to explain that Rusty was indeed in trouble, just not in the way Tess was thinking?

"And he needs you."

There was now a little hardness and a little inevitability to the four words and Danny knew he should have rung her before because if the communication had been in place there would be no need for her to feel snubbed.

"Yes." And Danny found himself wanting to defend Rusty, to tell Tess how Rusty had tried to send him back to her. He couldn't. Because if she knew how much Rusty didn't want him there, she'd know how bad it was.

"What if I needed you, Danny?" With more than a hint of a tear.

Danny closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and told the truth.

"If you needed me, Tess, Rusty would buy the plane ticket, drive me to the airport and watch me get on the plane. Hell, he'd probably fly the plane."

There was yet another pause and Danny pictured Tess at the other end of the phone, thinking about what he'd said, knowing he wasn't lying.

"How long?" she asked eventually.

"I don't know." He did a calculation in his head. "Should be wrapped up over the next couple of days or so." One way or another.

"And then you're coming home?" There was hope in there and he knew she hated herself for asking. Even now when she understood exactly where she stood in his affections: not more, not less. Rusty had worked that out long ago but then, he was Rusty.

"Then I'm coming back to you," he assured her.

Rusty would be disappearing anyway. Immediately. Danny knew he'd walk out of the hotel on the final morning of the trial and wouldn't go back.

"Tess, I do love you," he said again and she sighed.

"I know. I do too." She sighed again. "Do what you have to, Danny. Just tell me, are you being careful?"

"Careful as mice," he said lightly, quoting "The Untouchables" back at her.

She didn't get it. "Well, watch out for mousetraps."

"'Bye, Tess."

"I love you, Danny."

He hung up and stared at the phone and wondered yet again how life got so damn knotted.

Turk emerged with Anna-Mae on his arm and they had their heads together. Danny read the comfort, the anxiety, the reassurance, the worry…and then Anna-Mae was on her way and Turk was heading over to Danny with a satisfied look on his face.

"She's going to think things over and she's going to call me."

Danny looked at him. "About the case, right?"

Turk had the grace to look a little ashamed. "About the case," he nodded. "I think she's having second thoughts."

"Good job, Turk." Danny meant it. He doubted he'd have broken through so quickly or so effectively.

The smile on Turk's face was broad.

* * *

Saul didn't sulk as a rule which meant he wasn't good at it.

Rusty could have given him tips. _More of a pout…work the lashes…_ He sighed inwardly, munched the potato chips and was remarkably glad when Danny called to tell him that the meeting with Anna-Mae had gone well.

"Can you pick up some food?" he asked plaintively.

There was a pause.

"Saul giving you grief?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"You want me to shop for you or for him?"

_Both? _He heard the smile at the other end.

"OK. Later."

Rusty hung up and looked over at Saul who was inspecting a potato chip with such disdain that if it hadn't already been shrivelled and dried up, it would have done so immediately.

"Relax, Saul. Cavalry's coming."


	16. Downtime

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: oh, I own no one. Except half share in a Staffie.

Chapter Sixteen: Downtime

* * *

Laden with groceries, Danny pushed open the door to Rusty's suite, Turk close behind him, arms also full. They deposited the bags on top of the table and looked over with something approaching hunter/gatherer satisfaction at Saul and Rusty.

_Am I glad to see you._

_Hard time?_

Rusty got carefully to his feet and walked slowly over to the table, leaning on it for support. Danny was pleased to see him moving with a little more confidence, a little more ease.

"Tell me you picked up something beginning with "H"."

"Healthy? Yeah." Danny fished into one of the bags and brought out a tuna salad sandwich that he tossed in Saul's direction.

"Finally," muttered Saul, tearing the packaging off.

"And?" Rusty's eyes were on the rest of the shopping.

"Turk's going to make us all some chilli."

"Oh. Thanks, Turk." The words were polite but dismissive: Rusty was back with the groceries. "And?"

"Picked up some beer and some whisky for tonight and some movies for you for tomorrow. And some things for breakfast."

"Uh-huh. And?" The conjunction was now devoid of patience.

Wordlessly, Danny held up the chocolate and the three packets of Oreos.

"Finally. You shouldn't mess with someone who's ill, you know."

"Shut up and start in on the sweet stuff."

* * *

Turk's chilli was slightly hampered by the lack of proper kitchen utensils and even more so by the lack of crockery.

"Do you never have more than one person around?" Turk frowned as he came to serve up.

"Don't have time for a social life," Rusty said and smiled as Turk's eyebrows shot up. Damn, but his reputation was good. Loose, but good.

They ended up round the table laid with a bowl of chilli, plate of chunky bread and beers; Saul and Danny with plates and Turk and Rusty (as chef and ostensible host) with cereal bowls. The chilli was excellent.

"Turk, I may just propose." Rusty wiped a piece of bread around the cereal bowl, wishing there was more chilli to mop up.

"You'd have to get in line," Danny remarked.

"You're already married," Rusty pointed out.

"Great chilli is a citable reason for divorce."

"My boy, it is worth the aggravation the ulcers are going to give me," Saul assured Turk.

Turk beamed.

"Family recipe," he said casually. "Mom taught Virgil and I-"

Face clouding, he broke off and took a swig of beer. "Mom taught us," he amended shortly.

Rusty's eyes were on Danny's in an instant. So were Saul's. _Later,_ Danny told both of them.

"Anna-Mae's definitely hiding something and she's definitely shaken up," he said. "And Turk did well. She was quite taken with him."

"Aw, Danny…" But Turk looked pleased.

"She's got Turk's number and I'm hoping she'll phone."

"And if she does?" This from Saul.

"We need to get her to the defence lawyer. She's going to need to call her back as a witness. What?"

Rusty had pulled a face. "I'm not so convinced by the defence. I'm not sure she's trying too hard."

"You think Vincente's got to her?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. He's controlling every other aspect of this case."

Turk frowned. "Can't we just tell this Vincente that he's after the wrong guy?"

Danny smiled. "I don't think it's quite as simple as that. Vincente's after a quick result. That's what matters to the people that matter to him." He stopped as an idea occurred to him and looked over at Rusty. "You think Vincente's the one who's paying Gino?"

"Ahhh…" Rusty nodded. "Of course, he is. He's been told to find an answer and Gino's it. That's why he's pushing so hard for conviction."

"He doesn't care about the truth."

"No…" And something in Rusty was almost disappointed at Vincente.

"If he's behind Gino…" Saul began.

"…he's also the one who's convinced Anna-Mae to stretch the truth," Danny agreed grimly.

And Rusty was glad they'd all eaten because looking round the table, everyone was suddenly a lot less cheerful.

* * *

They'd piled up the dishes and played a few hands of cards – Saul warning Rusty and Danny that if they started cheating, they'd have him to answer to – and they'd spent most of the evening trying not to talk about the case and trying not to wait for Anna-Mae to ring. She didn't.

Rusty had whispered something to Danny at one point and he'd disappeared briefly and come back clutching bed linen.

"We're sleeping here?" Turk looked round the room.

"Not taking any chances, Turk." Rusty sounded apologetic.

"Sure…just…where?"

Danny threw him some sheets and a pillow. "You're on the couch, Saul's in my bed-" he caught Rusty's eye and realised how wrong that sounded. "In the guest bed," he corrected.

"And where are- oh! Sure. Right." Turk was suddenly very busy making up his bed on the couch.

_And you say I play too much._

_You do. And I wasn't. I was just being practical._

* * *

Rusty perched on the edge of his bed and watched Danny make up Saul's bed clean.

"Could get you a job here, you know."

"You as a boss?"

"Well, there has to be a perk."

"The pay would have to be extraordinary."

"Can't promise that," Rusty grinned. "But it'd be fun."

Danny stood and looked down at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Ache. Not as bad as I did. Don't need any more pain-killers."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Need my wits about me when I'm sharing a bed with you."

Danny's comeback was interrupted by Saul, who emerged from the bathroom and nodded approval at the clean sheets.

"Nice to see you can do practical when it's required," he said. "Life's not one long piece of blue sky, you know."

Danny thought back to the previous evening and waiting for Rusty and things not getting any better when Rusty arrived. "Yeah, I know."

"Night," Turk's voice floated through.

"Night, Turk," the three of them chorused and Danny saw Rusty's smile.

_Waltons moment?_

_Oh, yeah._

Saul made his way over to the pair of them.

"What's with Turk?" he whispered.

"Virgil's found himself a girl," Danny whispered back. "It's getting serious and Turk's-"

"Yeah," Rusty said quietly with slightly more feeling than Danny would have wished.

Saul nodded. "Doubtless you will both want to make it better. And doubtless you will," he whispered. "I am off to bed. Don't either of you dare keep me awake."

* * *

Rusty and Danny lay side by side, talking in low tones and listening to Turk snore loudly in the other room and Saul snore quietly in the next bed.

"This is…"

"It is."

"I feel like-"

"-me, too. Weird."

"Completely." There was a pause. "Rus…?"

"You want me to talk to him."

"He's lost and he's hurting."

"Uh-huh. You forgot the anger."

Danny looked over at him in the half-light but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Danny sighed.

"And he's angry. He just needs some reassurance."

Rusty's gaze moved to meet Danny's and he smiled. "Tell him things are never going to be the same again but that nothing will change? I can do that."

"I called Tess," Danny whispered.

"Did she remember who you were?"

"Yeah…"

"Is she cool?"

"Yeah…"

"What?"

"It's gonna be a while, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"You know where you're headed?"

"Canada. Mexico. Greenland. Haven't decided."

"Greenland?"

"Want to see if it's really green."

Danny smiled and then his face grew serious and he stared at Rusty as if he was never going to see him again. The emotion was thick in his voice. "You keep in-"

"-I will."

"And you be-"

"-as mice."

Danny nodded. _You'd better be._


	17. Advice

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: still not mine when I last looked.

A/N: long and necessarily bitty. Sorry. I know that doesn't make for smooth reading.

Chapter Seventeen: Advice

* * *

Rusty came to and was immediately aware of three things. One was Saul's gentle snoring; the second was that Danny had encroached on his side of the bed in the night and now had his face buried in Rusty's pillow and an arm flung casually about his waist. And thirdly, he was being watched.

His eyes shot open to see Turk staring down at him, mouth on its way to forming an "O".

Well, this was just going to add grist to the rumour mill. From the group of people they had worked with of late, Rusty felt he knew who didn't much care; who enjoyed playing with the situation almost as much as he did; who looked like they wished they'd asked the question before the moment had passed; who looked like the question was going to burst out of them at any time; and of course, Yen.

Yen, who had voiced the question. Yen, who had watched them and frowned and caught hold of Rusty's arm and asked "You guys fuck or what?"

And because Danny was present and Rusty knew it would annoy him, Rusty had answered in elegant Cantonese, "Define "what" and I'll tell you. Until then, I can't answer". Yen had looked momentarily annoyed and then he'd laughed like he'd never stop.

Turk and Virgil probably felt they knew the truth. Of course, they wouldn't agree on what the truth was.

Holding a finger briefly up to his lips, Rusty carefully took hold of Danny's arm and gently rolled Danny on to his back. Then he extricated himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Moment of truth. He pushed himself upright and was pleased to find that his feet felt likely to support him. Pulling a bathrobe about himself, he motioned Turk out of the room and they headed for the kitchen.

"I sorted out breakfast," Turk jerked his head at the table where he'd laid out toast and honey and orange juice.

"You will make someone a great wife," Rusty smiled and Turk pulled his fist back as if to punch Rusty's shoulder and then looked like he'd thought better of it.

They sat down at the table and Rusty started ladling butter and honey on to the bread.

"Sounds like you were a hit with Anna-Mae," he said lightly.

"Aw, Danny laid it on a bit thick," Turk shrugged, smiling. "She's a sweet little thing. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Danny said she was a manicurist, didn't he?"

"Yep. Manicurist, Gino's hands, cause of the fight. Covered all that."

Turk looked down at his own hands and across at Rusty's which were elegantly groomed. "She wouldn't like my great old paws. Only fit for rummaging around under the hood of a truck."

He looked over at Rusty and sighed.

"I know he's told you," Turk said, staring down at his glass of OJ. "Danny, I mean. I know he's told you. I mean you're Danny and Rusty. Of course, he has."

Rusty concentrated on his toast.

"I just…man…it hurts, you know."

_Yeah._ "How serious is it?"

"Serious enough for me to pick up this lousy limo ride. No offence, Rusty, but this city's…"

He sighed again. "The other week, he said something and I came back with something and…and he said nothing – not a thing. And I just felt so…"

Rusty took a bite. "What do you want me to tell you, Turk?" Because he could tell him many things.

Turk took a deep breath. "Tell me it like it is."

_Like it is…OK…_

Rusty put down the toast and rubbed the crumbs off his fingers.

"It starts and it stings like fury and you're angry with him, angry with her and most of all angry with yourself for being angry. You want to deny it's happening but you can't avoid what your eyes are telling you. You would give anything to have things back the way they were."

Turk nodded slowly in silent agreement.

"Thing is, Turk, after a while you realise no one's being replaced, no one's getting cut out of anything. Different relationships, Turk, and there _is_ room for two in someone's life. Right now, maybe it doesn't seem that way. You just have to roll with the punches until it comes right again."

"You think…"

"I've known Danny a long time. But you've known Virgil your whole life. Of course, it's going to come right."

Turk nodded slowly, digesting what Rusty had said. "Thanks."

"No problem." And he was pleased to see Turk look a little comforted. He turned his attention back to the toast and then heard:

"You really were angry?"

Rusty smiled to himself and reflected briefly on how few people had ever seen him lose his temper and how even fewer of them had realised what they were seeing.

"I burned white-hot. But only for a while."

"Did you-did you hit him at all?"

_Huh. That would probably have been better than what he had done._

"No." Rusty looked at Turk and his face asked the question.

"Punched him on the jaw when he told me. He didn't even punch me back." He sounded thoroughly miserable.

Rusty remembered that the Malloys expressed their love as much with the physical violence as the verbal sniping.

"He will, Turk," he promised. "Just give him time."

Turk looked over at the sink with the remains of the chilli dishes.

"I'll start in on these."

"Really?" Rusty looked startled. He so didn't do domestic.

"I like to be busy these days."

Well, he could relate to that.

Rusty wandered back into the bedroom. Saul was still fast asleep and Rusty stared down at him. After tonight, it wasn't just Danny he wasn't going to see for a while. And at the back of his mind nowadays was the thought that there were never any guarantees about anything.

He glanced over at the other bed. Danny was awake; sitting up, hands behind his head, looking over at him. And Rusty didn't need to ask whether or not he'd overheard his conversation with Turk. He crossed over and sat on the edge of the bed and read many things in Danny's eyes.

"Don't you go getting soppy on me," Rusty warned.

"Heaven forbid," Danny smiled then looked thoughtful. "You know, what with one thing and another, I haven't asked you how Saul came round to your way of thinking. I mean I know you have a silver tongue but-"

"Told him what I told you. Something I had to do."

"And he was OK with that?"

"He was OK."

"Somehow I thought he'd be more-"

"Oh, he was. Believe me, he was." Rusty still felt the chill of imagining Danny in his place. "But I can be convincing."

"Worked that out by now."

There was a silence.

"Hey, Turk made toast."

"He did?"

"Not burnt or anything."

"Amazing." Danny shook his head in mock-shock. He looked at Rusty sitting straight and pain-free. "How are you feeling?"

"Not amazing," Rusty admitted. "But my feet are fine. Should be able to get my shoes on at least. And the shoulders are getting there. More of a dull ache…"

There was more than a hint in the latter part of the sentence and Danny's mouth crooked into a smile.

"Here? Now?"

Rusty's own smile was wider than Danny's. "I'll tell you about earlier later. Trust me, after that, this isn't going to do any harm."

* * *

"I've looked everywhere but there's no detergent, Rusty-" Turk stopped dead at the sight of Danny massaging muscle rub into Rusty's shoulders. Rusty opened one eye to see Turk's mouth forming an "O" once again.

"Don't think there is any, Turk."

"Rusty and detergent. Two words I never expect to hear in the same sentence," Danny contributed, still working on Rusty's shoulders. "Detergent would ruin his hands. Not to mention his street cred."

"What street cred?" Saul was awake. "We all know the way he dresses."

Somewhere from the other room came a synthesised version of "Bad Moon Rising" and Turk ran to answer his phone. The other three immediately padded after him.

"Hi, Anna-Mae," Turk said and everyone in the room suddenly breathed easier.

* * *

Anna-Mae had been tearful and worried and had listened to comforting words and reassurance from Joey. Finally she had agreed to meet him back at Shelleys at ten o'clock.

"You coming?" Turk asked Danny who shook his head.

"You don't need me, Turk, I'll only get in the way. But if she is going to change her story the next step's going to be talking to the defence lawyer. Persuading her to see the error of her ways."

He looked over at Saul.

"You'd make an excellent retired judge, you know."

Saul thought for a moment.

"Clarendon Harper," he said in a broad Southern accent. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Has Clarendon Harper got a suit with him?" Rusty enquired and Saul's face fell.

"Maybe he was on a fishing trip?"

Rusty and Danny exchanged glances.

"OK," Danny said. "I'll take Clarendon shopping. Turk? As soon as you get Anna-Mae onside, you phone me."

He picked up his jacket off a chair and fished around for the notepad and pen – the journalistic prop he hadn't needed to use – and looked at Rusty.

"Defence lawyer's name?"

"Barbara Campbell," Rusty said promptly. "Her practice is Harvey, Thompson, Allen and Vine. Corner of Freer Street."

Turk stared at him. "You just know this?"

Rusty shrugged and Danny was pleased to see the shrug was wince-free. "It was all on some court paperwork."

And that was plausible and very likely. Except it wasn't why Rusty knew. Rusty knew the name because he'd heard it once. He knew the practice because he'd overheard half a conversation between two court officials. He knew where the practice was housed because he'd driven past it on more than one occasion, although it really only needed to be the one time. Rusty's brain just worked that way.

Danny saw a thought passing through Rusty's mind. "What is it?"

"Defence had new evidence."

"Yeah," Danny said heavily. He had a theory about that.

"So maybe she's honest?" Turk sounded hopeful.

Rusty was looking at Danny and his shoulders sagged.

_I hate it when you're right._

Saul was already there. "New evidence means adjournment."

"Adjournment means court breaks early," Rusty said dully.

"Breaking early means Vincente's men could pick up Rusty," Danny finished.

"Oh, he's good," Turk said fervently and as one, the other three smiled with more than a hint of bittersweetness.

* * *

Turk had left and Danny and Saul were about to.

Rusty emerged from the bedroom in a dark green suit that Saul declared positively sober.

"What are you gonna do?" Danny asked curiously.

"My job."

"You're-"

"Yes, I am setting foot outside this room. I have books to look over, reports to read and it's nearly five weeks since I've shown an interest. And since I'm imminently about to walk away from the place, I need to spend the day preparing."

_No arguments._

"I brought you movies," Danny said, wounded.

Rusty looked at the selection. "'Godfather III'? 'My Cousin Vinny'? 'Mr Smith Goes to Washington'? What's wrong? Couldn't you find 'Twelve Angry Men'?"

"They seemed appropriate." Danny tried hard not to say what he wanted to say next but it came out anyway. "And what if Vincente-"

"He's not going to try anything until tomorrow. He told me."

"And you-"

"-yes." Closing the line of discussion down, Rusty picked up his phone. "Just keep me in the loop."

* * *

Danny and Clarendon Harper sat in the car opposite the legal practice. Clarendon was dressed in a suit of apt gravitas and his Southern accent had grown noticeably richer and broader.

"Here," Danny handed Saul his phone. "I'll go and see what I can find."

He climbed out of the car and crossed the street. The practice was naturally shut up tight on the Sunday. Danny's eyes ran from the alarm to the cable to the door the cable disappeared behind. A small tool appeared in his hand and he got to work.

* * *

Turk had bought Anna-Mae three hot chocolates and had dug out a mostly clean handkerchief which was now wringing wet.

"I-I-I'm not a b-bad person," she sobbed and Turk reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"I know you're not, Anna-Mae. You're too pretty to be bad."

She sniffed and smiled.

"I don't know what to do," she said helplessly and Turk held both of her hands in his and smiled.

"I do."

* * *

Inside the practice, Danny had located Barbara's office. It was stern and sterile, no frippery, no personal. And actually, no personal: no home address in evidence.

He thought laterally (literally) for a moment and crossed the corridor to an office that belonged according to the door to Richard Allen, Attorney-at-Law. In his rolodex, there was an address belonging to Barbara C. _Bingo._

* * *

Around a table in one of the newly refurbished conference rooms at the Standard, sat representatives of the management team and Rusty. He had called a heads of department meeting from those who were on duty and was busy hearing how his hotel had been functioning for the past month or so.

Not too badly was the answer. Room bookings were steady. Events were picking up thanks in no small part to the breakfast on arrival. Rusty had suggested it and it had definitely added to the wow factor for delegates. Housekeeping reported staff turnover was declining and the food and beverages stocktake had yielded a shrinkage figure well within the parameters Rusty had laid down. Reception presented their schedules for the forthcoming month which were on the whole fine ("Change Kirsty up, guys. She's been stuck on evenings since forever").

Arthur hesitantly mentioned the alarms incident.

"System relay malfunction," Rusty said smoothly. "Had assurances from the engineers it won't happen again."

"We had a number of complaints," he said apologetically and Rusty felt his own face pulling into a reciprocal apologetic expression. It had after all been because of him. "We had to reduce people's bills to accommodate for the inconvenience."

"Write to everybody who stayed here that night whether they complained or not. Whether we gave them their money back or not," Rusty instructed. "Offer them a weekend for two for free to be taken over the next six months. Dinner included."

Arthur wore a similar expression to Linus when he was bemused and Rusty reminded himself that Arthur had only been on board about three months. Those who had worked with him longer smiled and nodded approval. It wasn't the first time Mr Ryan had endeavoured successfully to exceed customer expectations.

Suddenly, Arthur seemed to be aware of everyone else's reaction and his face relaxed. He nodded approval too and Rusty felt something close to satisfaction.

* * *

Turk called just as Danny reached the car and Saul passed the phone over.

"Anna-Mae's prepared to be recalled as a witness. She's got something to add to her story."

"Did she say what?"

"No. I didn't want to push it. She looked…fragile."

"OK." It was probably a good call. "Well done. You heading back?"

There was a pause.

"Actually, Anna-Mae's just powdering her nose. We're going to take in a movie."

"Right," Danny smiled. "But don't be too visible."

"The lights'll be down in the cinema, right?"

"For your sake I hope so." He closed the call and looked over at Saul. "Come on, Clarendon, we're up."


	18. Together

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: not mine now, not mine ever. Man, that's a sad thought. :)

Chapter Eighteen: Together

* * *

Barbara Campbell had had a restless few nights ever since the man in the sharp suit with the smile had showed up at her office and suggested politely that she might like to consider how much effort she was going to put in to defending her latest client.

"The evidence leads to an inevitable conclusion," he'd said. "The prosecution know what they're doing. So will the jury. So, interestingly enough, does the defendant in spite of his not guilty plea. Why not do yourself a favour? Don't try too hard."

And that was it. No threat, no bribery. Just a straightforward appeal to expediency. He hadn't even raised his voice or banged a fist on a desk. He had been civil as anything and she had been hard pressed to work out quite why she was as scared of him as she was.

Gino hadn't helped. He'd been tight-lipped and awkward and she'd thrown her hands up and opted for the easy life and tried not to think about her conscience.

It wasn't even as if the man with the frightening smile had been wrong. The evidence did seem convincing. The prosecution had been efficient. And the jury for the most part looked as if they were lapping it all up. It wasn't like she had to lie or anything. It still didn't make her feel right inside. As for the evidence that wasn't...well...no one could have been sorry to leave that court early on a Friday, could they?

She was presently up, dressed and eating a late brunch at her flat in one of the nicer parts of the city. Florence, her Persian cat, was wandering across the paper that was laid out on the table and Barbara kept shooing her off the paragraphs she wanted to read. The doorbell buzzed and Florence jumped off the table as Barbara stood up, crossed the room and opened the door on safety chain to an avuncular smile.

"Can I help you?"

The old man with the bow-tie and the tweed suit continued to smile. "Ms Campbell? I am Clarendon Harper and this is my colleague, Stephen Trent. We work for the Bar Association of California. May we come in for a moment, ma'am?"

Florence rubbed against her leg as she looked at the two strangers. One of them not so unfamiliar…

"I saw you in court…" she said slowly and Stephen Trent nodded. She gave a little half-gasp. "Is this about the case?"

"It is, ma'am," Clarendon nodded gravely. "If we might discuss it inside?"

She looked at the open eyes she felt she could instinctively trust and again at Stephen and his hint of a gentle smile. There was an exchange of confidences being offered and something in her wanted to make sure her side of the sheet balanced.

"Sure," she found herself saying and undid the chain.

* * *

It was lunchtime and Rusty had moved on to the restaurant and the new desserts that the chef was proposing. It seemed a natural perk that the owner should sample them.

"This," Patrice, his maître d', explained, "is strawberry, mascarpone and chocolate tart with-"

Rusty held up a hand. "Just let me taste them."

The tart was good. Rich, but good. If you were serving it at a formal dinner it would need a lighter balance to the start of the menu. As an à la carte choice, it was excellent.

"And this one…"

This one was a banoffee pie variation. Smooth and creamy filling, crumbly melt in the mouth base. Rusty nodded his head in approval.

"And finally…"

Apple crumble. With cinnamon and sultanas. Rusty's mouth twitched into a sad little half-smile and back again and then he picked up his spoon. It tasted welcoming and warming and everything it should be.

"May I please speak to Thierry?" he asked and waited till the chef arrived tableside. He motioned him to the seat opposite.

"They are all a triumph, Thierry. All of them. My only suggestion and it is only a suggestion is to try the crumble mixture with some oatmeal. Try it. If you like it, fine, if you don't like it, fine…" he broke off. "What is it?"

"I was goin' to use oatmeal," Thierry said apologetically, in accented English, "but the…cost…"

"Use it," Rusty said firmly. "We'll reconcile the margin."

* * *

Barbara felt she was in some sort of dream. Sundays did not normally include a retired judge and pleasant Southern gentleman, Clarendon Harper, now working in an advisory capacity for the Bar Association of California and Stephen Trent who simply worked for them, ensconced in her lounge sipping coffee; Florence had taken up residence on Stephen's knee much to Stephen's wary surprise.

Clarendon had gently explained that there had been some suspicions raised about the case and pressure that had been brought to bear on witnesses and possibly even others who were involved.

"We are anxious that justice be upheld for Gino, ma'am," he said with a smile.

"So am I," she agreed fervently and the guilt washed over her, lending her cheeks a pinkish tinge.

"To that end, it has come to our attention that a witness for the prosecution may need to be recalled for further cross-examination."

"Truly? Who?" She thought quickly and answered before Clarendon could. "It's Anna-Mae, isn't it?"

Stephen smiled at her, one hand absent-mindedly stroking the cat's ears. "It is. There may in fact be new evidence for the defence."

For a long moment, the only sound was Florence's orgasmic purring.

"First thing Monday," she gabbled. "I'll have her back on the stand."

"Excellent," Clarendon smiled warmly and stood up.

Stephen dislodged Florence with difficulty and followed suit.

"Good," he said. "Because in court, nothing's more important than a fair hearing."

And Barbara felt the chastisement and the encouragement all at the same time.

* * *

The thing about his hotel accounts was their labyrinthine nature. They looked like they should be straightforward. Revenue minus cost equalled profit. Except that there were things like amortization and depreciation and pre-payments and accruals to cope with. Not to mention contingency funds and capital projects and assets. And somehow the profit was always a negative figure.

Rusty tried. Really he did. It wasn't as if he were a stupid man. It wasn't as if he weren't good with figures (though nowhere near Reuben when it came to mental arithmetic). But just when he thought he'd got his head around the balance sheet, his earnest finance controller, Edward, would introduce another variable that had to be taken into account that skewed Rusty's view entirely. Today, it was inventory costs.

"Typically," Edward was explaining, "holding inventory means adding another twenty percent in costs."

"Twenty percent." Rusty was with him so far.

Edward nodded. "Obsolescence, shrinkage, pilferage, deterioration, security," he rattled off. "Not to mention opportunity cost in the capital that's tied up in the goods."

"OK…" Rusty thought he could see all that. Then he decided he couldn't. "Give me an example."

Edward thought for a moment. "Imagine a warehouse full of computer equipment. Whatever you hold in there runs the danger of becoming out of date or damaged or stolen or rotting. Plus you have to guard it. Plus it's going to mean the money that's tied up there can't be spent elsewhere."

He looked at Rusty in the hope that he'd been clear. Rusty was slowly nodding to himself. The warehouse was vivid. Packed to the rafters with valuables.

"Two questions," he said to Edward who nodded encouragingly. "How many guards are there and how many exits?"

Edward's mouth opened and closed a couple of times and then Rusty's phone rang. He excused himself and stepped outside of Edward's office walking away down the corridor.

"Barbara is back on side," Danny said. "We're through and heading back."

"You heard from Turk?"

"Mmm."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Turk's taking in a movie. With Anna-Mae."

"Mmm."

"Exactly. What do you fancy eating tonight?"

There was something in Danny's tone which Rusty picked up. He thought about it for a moment and then realised what it was.

"Last supper?"

"I guess. It could be." And Danny wasn't playing. "You could be out of here tomorrow."

Rusty said nothing for a moment. Then, "You think Saul could stomach Chinese?"

"Chinese, Saul?"

There was a martyred groan and they both grinned.

* * *

The Chinese was everything Rusty liked. Of course. And afterwards, there was his favourite flavour of ice-cream to follow.

Rusty picked up a spoon.

_You spoiling me?_

_Aren't you going to tell me you're worth it?_

_Know what? I so am._

Danny laughed.

Saul looked from one to the other and disappeared into the bedroom muttering about antacids.

"How are you holding up?" Danny asked, watching Rusty at work with the spoon and the tub.

"Pretty much there. Legs are aching a bit," he admitted, licking the spoon, "but given the lack of use that's not surprising."

He looked over at Danny and sighed. He put the spoon down.

"Will you stop looking at me as if it's the end? It's not going to be four years. It's not going to be prison," he said. He hesitated and then added, "It's not even going to be Tess."

"I know. I know all three." _It's not going to make it any easier._

And all Rusty could say was, "I know." _And I'm sorry._

* * *

Turk pitched up much later as the three of them sat playing cards and the smudged lipstick on the side of his face spoke of an interesting time away.

"Anna-Mae get home OK?" Danny wondered innocently.

"Yeah…" Turk's smile was wide. "She did."

"You want anything?" Rusty asked equally innocently, indicating the very little left. "Or you satisfied?"

Saul made a little choking noise that he changed into a cough.

"I'm good," Turk said distractedly looking at Danny's hand.

Saul's cough became a coughing fit; Danny and Rusty just smiled at each other.

"Anna-Mae's going to be just fine," Turk said, moving round to look at Saul's cards. "I said I'd be there for her anyway so all she needs to do is look my way-"

"No." Rusty dropped his hand on the table. "Absolutely not."

He glared at Turk. "You are not going anywhere near the courtroom tomorrow." He caught sight of Saul's face. "That means you too, Clarendon. It's not happening."

Rusty turned to Danny.

"No," Danny agreed. "I know. I'm not sitting in court."

_Damn right._

He stared searchingly at Danny who held his gaze mildly and then he sat back, convinced.

* * *

They lay in bed later listening to the other two sleeping.

"Turk's in a better mood."

"You think it's down to your little talk?"

"Yeah." Rusty nodded vehemently. "It's probably that."

There was a pause and then Danny said, "Vincente."

"I'm ready."

There was another pause and then Danny swore softly.

"Promised I'd phone Tess." He slipped out of bed and pulled his clothes on. "I'll take a quick stroll."

"Say hi from me."

Danny looked over at him stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"She does-"

"She does."

"She just doesn't-"

"She so doesn't." Rusty rolled on to his side and looked up at Danny. "It's OK. It's always OK."

His eyes were full of amusement and understanding and a million things that Danny was going to miss like crazy.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."

* * *

On his way out of the suite, Danny felt the uncommon need for something sweet. He rooted around as quietly as he could in the kitchen and found a surprising packet of cookies. Rusty must have had a packed day to have missed these. He hesitated for a moment. But just a moment.

Standing at the top of one of the fire exit staircases, Danny munched on an Oreo and got the answerphone as he knew he would.

"Love you, Tess. Call you tomorrow." He hung up quickly. Now, he could look Rusty in the eye and tell him he'd done what he said.

Rapidly, he punched in another number and prepared himself for a lengthy conversation. He glanced down at the cookies. They would probably last him.


	19. Revelation

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: do not own.

A/N: nothing to do with this fic, but still a bit shocked about Bernie Mac. Going to be so strange writing Frank C in the future.

Chapter Nineteen: Revelation

* * *

Morning arrived and found Vincente deep in his tai chi routine. He'd flown in from the East Coast on the redeye, sleeping as easily on the plane as he did anywhere.

Business in New York concluded, he was focused once more on the trial and the thorny problem of Mr Ryan. On the plane, he'd thought about the extremely likely fact that Ryan had had similar run-ins with people like him before and the possibilities of Ryan being simply a hotel owner who rubbed the wrong people up the wrong way. Which, to be frank, was not so likely. He'd put out calls to wider sources. He needed to find out the truth.

Today, he figured, would see the trial move into the jury room. That left tonight as the best time to strike. Tonight, when Ryan left the courthouse, he'd be watching and waiting, and he would by then be armed with Ryan's true identity and he would finally, finally feel like he had the upper hand here.

As for this morning…Vincente "carried the tiger to the mountain" and nodded to himself. A little pep talk on the way in wasn't going to do any harm either.

* * *

The four of them had risen, dressed and breakfasted and Rusty had realised he had to spell something out to Saul and Turk. Well, mostly to Turk.

"You need to leave this morning as if you're leaving. If the trial ends today, I won't be coming back."

"If it isn't over?" Turk asked, frowning at Rusty who was stood, arms folded, not taking any nonsense.

"If it isn't, I still want you guys out of here. You've done a brilliant job. And thank you. But it's not safe and it's not going to get any less dangerous."

Rusty's eyes moved over to Danny, sat on the couch.

_You know that means you too._

_I know you think it does._

Rusty made an exasperated little noise.

Danny smiled. "Thought we ought to make sure-"

"-both of them-"

"-just in case."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah."

"I'll-"

"I will."

_OK…_

And that was Anna-Mae and Barbara taken care of.

It wasn't in his nature to do goodbyes. Too final. Too dramatic. Too "Adieu" and he was an "Au revoir" kind of guy.

He shook hands with Turk and with Saul and accepted a none too cryptic "Thanks" from the former and an even less cryptic "Robert" from the latter and they'd left.

Now he was looking over at Danny, still sat on the couch.

"You gonna be there all day?"

He saw Danny smile and stand up, stretching as he did so. Then he sauntered over to stand in front of Rusty.

"I want you to know," Danny began, "that I am fighting to keep my sentimental side in check."

"Not planning on kissing me or anything, are you?"

Danny's mouth twitched.

"I'll go and call Bobby. And I'll see you soon."

"Yeah." Because "soon" didn't need to be defined.

It was after Danny had left and as he was fruitlessly searching for the Oreos he was sure should have been there that he realised. Something in Danny was different. He was calmer and the concern had vanished overnight. Something in Danny was different: the something that meant he had a plan.

Rusty swore to himself.

* * *

He'd hesitated over which car to pick and reluctantly had left his favourite behind and settled for a low-key convertible. He'd put his toothbrush and a few passports in his pocket and raided the petty cash tin in the office and walked out the door. It was possible he'd be back tonight but it was best to be prepared.

As he walked from the car to the courthouse, past shops and shoppers, he reflected yet again on why he felt so comfortable in Hollywood. Here, everyone was beautiful. Waitresses, gas station attendants, shop assistants…beauty could be and was found everywhere. It was the one place he felt his looks didn't stand out. He was going to miss it and his spirits sighed a little at the impending separation.

Rusty's mood didn't improve when he saw Vincente waiting for him outside the courthouse.

"Mr Ryan. Fully recovered, I hope?" he said as Rusty drew near.

"Oh, I'm fighting fit."

"Pleased to hear it."

Rusty went to move past him and Vincente laid a hand on his arm.

"Just a moment. I would like to make sure you completely understand what page we are on."

"Too much to hope the book's closed, I guess."

Vincente smiled. "Consider your actions carefully, Mr Ryan. I don't take rejection well. I asked the defence nicely for a recess on Friday and I can do the same again. And if you insist on being so recalcitrant, you have to know that I will take that amiss."

He stared at Rusty.

"You thinking about that?"

"Actually wondering how many points you'd get for "recalcitrant" in Scrabble."

Vincente shook his head. "You want to know what you'll get for "recalcitrant"?" he asked, his voice even. "Long and slow, Mr Ryan. Long and slow and final."

He took his hand away and Rusty looked into those eyes that said they meant every single word. Rusty's own eyes weren't giving an inch either.

"Enjoy the day, Mr Ryan. I'll be watching to make sure you do."

* * *

From where he sat on the front row of the jury, Rusty had a great view of the courtroom. Vincente was in his usual seat, studying him as promised. Gino's mother and sister were there and the law student and the courtroom groupies. No Danny. No Saul. No Turk.

He'd hoped they would listen; he'd worried they wouldn't. Relieved, Rusty settled down to watch Barbara Campbell do her stuff.

"Defence wishes to recall Anna-Mae Nicholls."

Anna-Mae took the stand and as the judge reminded her she was still under oath, Rusty had the pleasure of seeing Vincente surprised. Vincente's face gave a hint of a frown then settled into a moment's disbelief before coming back to impassivity.

"I believe you have some new evidence you'd like to share with us."

Anna-Mae was trembling but she was resolute. She glanced at Gino and then back at Barbara and she stuck her chin out defiantly.

"I remembered something," she said. "When the man…when Marcello…when the man attacked Marcello, he was wearing gloves. But Marcello caught his arm and he pulled one of them part way back. Whoever killed Marcello had a name on his hand. Percy something. Gino…well…I saw Gino's hands earlier. He doesn't have tattoos or anything."

Time seemed to be happening all at once for Rusty. There was a general murmur in court; Barbara instructed Gino to hold up his unblemished hands for the jury; Anna-Mae was smiling at Gino who was smiling back; Gino's mother and sister were hugging each other; the law student was staring open-mouthed.

On top of all this, Rusty was coming to terms with the realisation that Vincente had in fact cared about the truth very much indeed.

Percy something. _Per siempre._

He looked at Vincente. There was a hint of shock, a glance at the law student _(maybe not a law student…?) _who was still staring at Anna-Mae, a look of resignation and then another look. A look just for him. _Long and slow, _it said…_long and slow, _it promised…well, he'd have to catch him first.

Prosecution and defence summed up and rested. Judge Fuller explained the jury's duties to them and was about to dismiss them when suddenly, a court usher burst into the courtroom smothered in the repressed excitement of someone who's seen a few too many movies. He approached the bench with paperwork and whispered hurriedly to the judge.

Vincente and Rusty stared at each other hard and simultaneously frowned as they each realised this was nothing to do with either of them.

Judge Fuller scanned his eyes over the paperwork and then, before he could say anything, the doors to the courtroom opened and five men walked down to the front: five men, with shades and earpieces and holsters and dark suits that didn't have the letters "FBI" stitched on the back but actually didn't need them. They marched in front of the jury box and stood alternately facing in and out, watching the people, watching the room.

Judge Everton Fuller cleared his throat. "Apparently some threats to the jury have come to light and it has been suggested and I must perforce agree that the jury be sequestered."

Now that was a long, fancy word…Rusty stared at the Fed closest to him whose features looked exceedingly familiar.

"We gotcha," Bobby said lightly.

A sixth Fed had hung back by the door and as he caught a glimpse of him, Rusty's mouth set in a very straight line. Because like he'd said, Danny wasn't sitting in court. He was standing in it; all done up in shades and suit; doing the disguise thing Rusty'd said he couldn't do; hiding those eyes; smiling from ear to ear.

The fury rose up within Rusty. He couldn't let it show. He couldn't. _Vincente…_ He had to lock it down. Had to. _Danny…damn him…_ No. No. It would be better if he could shut his eyes. Better if he could do anything other than fight this losing battle because the rage was approaching incandescence. He could feel his face draining of colour, could feel his lips thin and his eyes…

Bobby got the full blast of the unblinking blue.

"Jeez, Rusty," he muttered.

He daren't look again at Danny even for a nanosecond. He knew Vincente had already seen the anger. He dare not let him know why.

Sequestration. Protection. Locked away safely from Vincente until after the verdict. No wonder Danny's concern had vanished: he wasn't playing fair.

* * *

The jury room walls were painted in taupe and Rusty didn't have the will to comment to himself about it. The anger was still live, still painfully hard to manage. And being separated from Danny…enforced separation at that…Feds outside the door…Danny outside somewhere…Vincente outside somewhere… Rusty sat in a chair and closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts, the worry and the feeling of absolute helplessness. He hated not being in control.

"Excuse me…?"

He opened his eyes. It was Alice, shy and timid. "You are going to be the foreperson, right?"

_Right. He was. He damn well was. _Back in control, eyes sharp and focused, he looked around the table. _Let's get on with it and get it over with._

* * *

Saul and Turk were sitting in the same hotel lounge that Vincente had sat in the previous week. They looked across at the courthouse and sipped their coffees.

"You planning on heading back anytime today?"

Turk shook his head. "Thought I'd stick around and see what happens…"

"Me too."

* * *

The courtroom had been cleared and Danny had pocketed his shades and left Bobby and the Feds to it. He'd seen Rusty's face and he was a little sorry for that but overall? Not that sorry. He didn't doubt that Vincente would try again tonight to convince Rusty of the error of his ways. And the convincing would be even stronger in nature. This way, Rusty was safe. This way, he could do what he needed to and still walk away.

Danny decided he was ready to call Tess for real.

* * *

Rusty was in a place where Henry Fonda, Jimmy Stewart and Gary Cooper would be proud. He'd torn the prosecution case to shreds. He'd highlighted Anna-Mae's evidence. He'd pointed out Gino's beautifully clean hands that could not possibly have been responsible for Marcello's death.

The Suit aside, the other jurors had all nodded. Vincente had been right. They would happily follow where Rusty led them.

"We cannot let Gino go to prison for a crime he did not commit," he said, infusing his voice with passion. "We cannot have that on our conscience. There is only one verdict we can return."

The nods were even more fervent and Rusty sat back in his chair. _Job done._

* * *

"Anna-Mae?" Barbara caught up with her beside the large first floor window with the heavy green velvet drapes that overlooked the front square. "Anna-Mae, I just wanted to thank you and to say how well you did in court."

"Oh…" Anna-Mae blushed slightly. "That's OK. I was a little nervous but it was better than I thought."

"I don't know what made you come forward again, but thank you so much. I think Gino would like to thank you too if he were here."

Anna-Mae's blush deepened and to hide it, she turned to look out of the window.

"Oh, it's Mr Hennessey from the paper!"

Barbara followed Anna-Mae's gaze.

"That's Stephen Trent," she corrected. "He works for the Bar Association."

Anna-Mae frowned and shrugged. It looked like Mr Hennessey but she could be wrong. She smiled at Barbara.

"I hope it works out for Gino. He really was a nice man."

Barbara watched her leave and then slowly walked in the opposite direction. Time to grab a coffee, she felt.

* * *

Behind the left green velvet drape, Vincente stared down at a man with many names. His phone rang and he answered it.

"I still can't find a Robert Ryan," the voice at the other end said apologetically. "Closest I've come is a Rusty Ryan. Not a hotel owner, though. Con man. Good con man."

"Description?"

"'Bout 5'11". Blond. Pretty. Lots of charm."

_Con man..._ Vincente's mouth twisted at the irony of Ryan's true identity.

"Used to be mentioned in the same breath as Danny Ocean though that died down about six years or so back."

"Description?" Vincente demanded, gripping the phone, his gaze focused on the man below.

"Same height as Ryan but dark. Good-looking. All eyes and smile and voice. Did a spell inside about-"

Abruptly, Vincente closed the call and made another.

"Bring the van round to the front. Quickly."

* * *

"Tess…I promise everything's fine. This thing with Rusty'll be over the next day or so. I know that's what I said the last time. And the time before. But it really is the truth. Yes. Yes. I will. I _am._ I do. Very much. So much. I love you. 'Bye, Tess."

She had sounded comforted but still anxious. He didn't know what else to do, what else to say. And she was still the one he was going to. It wasn't her that he wouldn't be able to see at the drop of a hat. It wasn't as if he'd even lied about anything; there was nothing to feel guilty about. He still felt bad.

"Mr Ocean?" Vincente's voice at his shoulder was like a bucket of cold water. "Please would you accompany me?"

* * *

A/N: This cliffhangery thing. It could catch on. :)


	20. Apart

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: not mine, not mine.

Chapter Twenty: Apart

* * *

Busy with yet another coffee, Saul stared out of the window and waited for Turk to return from the bathroom. He wished he'd thought to pick up a pack of cards. As it was, they'd done the paper and finished the crossword _(And whatever Turk said, the capital of Alaska _was_ Juneau. There weren't enough letters for Anchorage, anyway, unless you wanted to add a few squares in the margin of the paper)._

A stray glance outside and Saul's attention perked up. That was Danny. Danny in a dark suit with a phone to his ear looking as if he wanted a private conversation. Probably Tess, Saul thought, judging by his face.

He sighed and wondered for the nth time how things had got so complicated. Once upon a time it was simple. There was Rusty. Then there was Danny and Rusty and almost at once that had blurred into one word. Honestly, he had never seen anything close to what they were together and what they meant to each other and how they were meant to be together. And the part of him that cared so very much for Rusty rejoiced in the fact that he had found someone so right. Saul didn't want or need details further than that though actually, he doubted it did go down that particular route of intimacy. They didn't need it. They just needed to be in the same room to be part of an indescribable connection, to be locked into it so tightly that neither could escape it, to stand together and to shine with a blinding brilliance.

And somewhere along the way, Tess had come on the scene. So now it was Rusty and Danny and Tess. Or Tess and Danny and Rusty. But always Danny in the middle. Always Danny sitting between the two of them, caring for each of them, _loving_ each of them…

Saul felt certain that Rusty had come to terms with Tess quicker than others would have (if there _were _any others like Danny and Rusty) though he knew there had still been a time of insecurity at the beginning and however brief that had been, Saul hated to think of that. Yes, Rusty had understood exactly what Tess was to Danny and where he, Rusty, sat in the equation. The row when it had happened hadn't been directly about Tess, he was sure.

After the Benedict job, Saul hoped that Tess was now in a similar position. Danny had risked an awful lot on the throw of a die and he'd been gambling on many things, not least Tess's understanding and Rusty's support. Saul knew Tess and Rusty had spent time together waiting for Danny to emerge from his second spell inside. That had had to be talking time, surely.

Tess had certainly seemed more relaxed at their second wedding. She had smiled and joked and Saul had carefully watched her when Rusty and Danny were together. She had seemed comfortable; accepting; happy. Whatever Rusty and Danny had said or done, together or separately, it seemed to be working. And although it was pointless trying to read Rusty when Tess and Danny were on their own, he too seemed reconciled with Danny. Happier than Saul had seen him since Tess had appeared as a wild card.

Danny had just never seemed to stop smiling. And yes, it was his wedding day and yes, that was expected. Saul just had the feeling that there were underlying reasons for the happiness.

He saw Danny now, chatting on the phone, a little tense around the mouth but evidently doing a reasonable job at reassurance judging by the patience in his expression and the nodding. Danny hung up and Saul saw the sigh and winced. Things were never quite as clear cut as you wanted them to be.

A man appeared at Danny's shoulder and Saul saw the tension rising through Danny. Saul stared at the other man, completely calm, completely in control and Saul's heart sank. He didn't know for sure but he would have wagered money on the other's identity.

* * *

It was an eleven to one verdict but that was enough.

"Not guilty," Rusty's voice rang out in the courtroom as he delivered the jury's decision and he saw Gino's face crumple with shocked delight.

Judge Fuller dismissed the case and Bobby and his associates stepped aside to allow the jury to step down into the courtroom.

"Stay close," Bobby whispered as Rusty moved past him and Rusty shot him an unforgiving look though they both knew that Bobby wasn't the real target.

Rusty walked over to where Gino was stood, smiling at Barbara. He leaned in to Gino so that they were eye to eye.

"Make it count," he said in a low voice and Gino nodded slowly and soberly enough that Rusty felt he would.

Rusty moved away and Bobby caught his elbow.

"I've been asked to make sure you get safely to an airport. Stay here till we clear the others out of here, OK?"

"Why don't you just handcuff me?" Rusty scowled.

"I might if I didn't think you'd enjoy it. Don't you make me arrest you." There was a distinct threat there. Bobby meant it.

Still scowling, Rusty slumped into a chair at the back of the room and watched the Feds carefully and calmly ushering people through and out.

* * *

"Please let me through, please let me through," Saul was pushing his way through the throng that had gathered in the corridor outside.

The man in the suit on the door was having none of it.

"You need to stand back, sir."

"I need to see-"

"Sir, the trial is finished. People are coming out now."

Saul drew himself up and glared at the man with the full force of everything he had.

"Let me in there now."

Unfortunately for Saul, the man was obviously trained in repelling such advances.

"You just have to wait."

Muttering at bureaucracy and people who followed orders, Saul turned round to find Turk had caught up with him. "We told him?"

"We're not even close to telling," Saul frowned.

* * *

It hadn't been Bobby's idea, of course.

Rusty hadn't planned to speak to him so soon but it was necessary to convey exactly how very wrong this was. Of all the mean, low-down, underhanded… He pulled out his phone and punched in the number. It was answered on the third ring.

"Danny-" And there was so much wrath in those two syllables.

"I'm sorry. Danny can't come to the phone right now, he's a little tied up."

And everything folds in on itself. Everything wraps up and around and down till all there is left is the phone in his hand and the voice in his ear. The words and the voice and the chasm that falls open in front of him, immense and razored. He gives a little half-choke and if he hadn't been seated, his legs would have given way.

"So there I am," the voice continues, the voice that is all he can focus on, the voice that holds the power, the voice that is in control… "waiting as inconspicuously as possible because others may be looking for me. Waiting as invisibly as I can for the trial to be over. It is over by the way, isn't it? And you will have done exactly what I didn't want you to do." It's a statement and the voice sounds unsurprised. Rusty feels the numbness reaching his fingers.

"I waited, Mr Ryan. Or may I call you Rusty?"

"Vincente…" He breathes it into the phone as the chasm looms larger.

"And then in one fell swoop, I discovered not only the truth about you but the truth about you." There is a difference in the yous and Rusty feels the unrelenting twisting of the knife in his very blood.

"Oh, it took me a while," Vincente goes on. "It took me a ridiculous amount of time to get there. I should have listened to my instincts, you know. Right at the start, right when I met the pair of you."

"Don't-" And it's leaden and full of pain and all things.

"Don't speak, listen to me. Because thanks to you, I only have a limited amount of free time-"

"Is he-?" He can't ask the question. "Don't-" he says again.

"Don't interrupt me again." Vincente says in a way that makes Rusty keep silent though the scream is building.

"Now, I don't pretend to understand it but I can't ignore it. When I met you, met both of you, I took a lot of surface for granted. That really was sloppy of me."

He breaks off and Rusty can hear him talking to someone in the background. "Not like that, like this."

There is the sound of exertion and something smacking wetly into flesh and there is the faintest of groans and Rusty thinks he may die then and there. He stuffs his fist into his mouth, biting down on the knuckle as he listens. It happens again and he hears Vincente say, "Better".

"Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yes. Because if I'd known, all I would have needed to do is to take him away for a couple of days and you would have rolled over like a spaniel."

"Please…" Rusty can't help himself.

"I said to be quiet," Vincente warns and waits till he is sure of the silence. "Now, I find myself seriously inconvenienced. It was a genuine mistake, you see. Clean hit, wrong guy. And I can explain that but it won't help and it won't save me. I'd hoped Gino going down for it would be the answer but that's before anyone decided to play detective. As you probably saw, they had someone in court and by now, they'll be putting it all together."

Rusty cannot form any words; the numbness has already pervaded his chest and is stealing across his face. Vincente speaks again.

"Right now, I guess you're thinking about begging or pleading or some sort of fairytale where you can take his place. Am I right?"

"Please…" He forces the word out and he can't manage any more. His brain is working overtime on unthinkable images. His words are tangled over each other. His throat feels rasped and all he can focus on is Vincente's voice at the other end of the phone; Vincente's voice, a million miles away; Vincente, a million miles away…with Danny…with Danny…

Vincente laughs and there is no humour in the laugh and no sadism and he is still all about the efficiency and the results and Rusty feels the pressure pushing up inside his skull unbearably.

"I still don't know what to call it but I know how deep it runs and I just wish I'd realised sooner how intense and powerful it is. And that's why having him here is just like having you. Somehow, strangely, I think it's going to hurt you more."

"Danny…" It is a whisper and a sob and a plea and a prayer.

"Honestly, Mr Ryan…Rusty," Vincente chides. "If you were me, what would you do?"

The phone goes dead and Rusty feels the fear eating through him. Because he knows he is right about Vincente: nothing will move him, nothing will stop him and Danny is lying in the path of it all.

He looks up and sees Saul and Turk and Bobby together, talking urgently, and then they look at him and he feels his features try to pull every which way at once into anger and grief and fear and guilt and he still cannot move.

Saul is first to reach him.

"Danny…" he says brokenly and Saul wraps his arms round him like he's sixteen again and holds him while the shaking starts; holds him as he falls into the chasm with the walls of razor blades ripping through him; holds him as he disintegrates into agony absolute.


	21. Agony

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: look, I mostly look after them.

A/N: yeah. This could get a little rough.

Chapter Twenty-One: Agony

* * *

Danny ached therefore he was.

* * *

"_It's you." Vincente shakes his head. "It's you, isn't it?"_

_Danny says nothing, just keeps his eyes on Vincente. He is sandwiched up between two of Vincente's colleagues in the back of a van and at the moment, he is concentrating on how fast he thinks he will be able to move when the situation arises._

_Vincente swears softly. _

"_I kept turning Friday over and over in my head," he says. "Trying to think what it was that wasn't there…why there was that glimpse of gladness in his face when the hood came off. But it was you." He shakes his head again. "I'll have you know I did my homework. I know you're not his live-in lover. I know you're not his significant other…"  
_

_Danny blinks a little too quickly and this draws a laugh from Vincente._

"_Oh, but that's exactly what you are, isn't it? You know what? That night in the restaurant, I could tell there was something between you. I knew it. I just didn't know it. How many people have figured it out?"_

_Danny doesn't answer._

"_Not many, I bet," Vincente answers his own question. "And yet…"_

_He pauses for a moment considering then says, "I hope you're made of stronger stuff than your friend. You should have seen him squealing for mercy, begging me to let him go, crying out for me to go easy on him, whimpering like a beaten puppy, weak and pathetic-"_

"_Liar." The word falls out of Danny and Vincente grins._

"_You see? You have to defend him. You sit there and you're furious that I'm besmirching his name. Even though we both know the truth. Unbelievable."_

_The van halts and Danny tenses. As the door of the van opens and he is pulled out, he swings and lands a punch at one of the men and then pulls away and starts to run. Hands grab him successfully and a fist connects with his eye._

"_No!" Vincente's voice rings out. "I want him identifiable."_

_The word sends a shiver through Danny. They pull him into a warehouse that he recognises from Rusty's description. _

_Danny can see that Vincente still can't get over the newly-discovered knowledge about Rusty and himself. Even as Danny is frisked and his phone found and handed over to Vincente. Even as he orders Danny's wrists and ankles to be tied and pushes him down into a chair. Even as he threads the chain through the ropes that bind Danny's feet together. Even as he sits down opposite him and waits._

"_I overheard the defence and the star witness chatting. It seems, Mr Ocean, you've been a busy man. Nothing you wouldn't do to help your friend it seems."_

"_That's what friends are for, Vincente. I'm sorry you don't know that." Danny injects a genuine note of sympathy into his voice. "Listen. Whatever's going on in the court, there's nothing that's going to be achieved here that's going to influence it. Is there? This doesn't need to happen. Whatever the verdict, it's not going to affect you."_

_Vincente smiles thinly. "I forgot you weren't there for the evidence. People who actually care about what happened to Marcello are now going to be looking for me. And if I were in the revenge game, I'd be blaming you for that, Mr Trent and Mr Hennessey."_

_Vincente's phone rings and he answers it. _

"_I see" he says and hangs up, then looks closely at Danny with a look that, God help him, reminds him of Rusty at his most immovable. He realises there is nothing he can say to stop this, nothing…and Danny swallows because even though he's thought this on other occasions, he's never been quite so sure that this is it._

"_Court's out. Not guilty. For that, I promised him long, slow and final. And I'm a man of my word, Mr Ocean. Unlucky for you that you get to understand that in full." He drags Danny to his feet and kicks the chair away. He turns to his colleagues. "Up."_

_Danny finds himself hoisted upside down in the air and his arms drop down in front of his face as gravity takes over. Vincente prowls round him and then out of nowhere delivers a hard punch into Danny's stomach followed by a roundhouse kick that lands somewhere low down and tender in Danny's back drawing an expulsion of air tinged with pain. Both blows are clean and professional and they are as vicious as anything Danny's ever received. He swings gently in the air as Vincente walks round him and then proceeds to take him apart as never before._

* * *

His body feels battered beyond words and he has no strength.

_

* * *

_

When he hears his own ring tone, his face crumples. Vincente stops and answers and Danny can hear his side of the conversation and imagines Rusty's side. He wants to say a million things to Rusty right now. He wants to tell him it was his – Danny's - fault. He wants to tell him not to go after Vincente. He wants to tell him-

_One of Vincente's colleagues takes an ineffective swing at him and Vincente breaks off to put him right. Danny feels a rib go. The blood is running down over his face and through his hair and he shakes his head a few times to blink it away. _

_Vincente finishes his conversation and then turns back to Danny._

"_Sadly, time is pressing. I am going to leave you in the hands of my colleagues. They will not be as precise, as measured as I am. But they will be effective. And Mr Ryan will understand that choices have consequences."_

_He turns to the men behind him. "Nothing on the face. Give it…" he glances at Danny as if carrying out a professional diagnosis, "…another fifteen minutes maximum. Then walk away and leave him. I want him alive when you go. Alive and in a great deal of pain."_

_He turns his head on one side and looks at Danny. "I'll be sure to leave him a message at his hotel to tell him where to find you. Not for a couple of days though."_

_And with that, he is gone and with that, the blows start again and Danny finds himself once more swimming in anguish._

* * *

"You dealing?"

Saul is shielding him from Bobby and Turk and his voice is low and urgent. Rusty forces himself back under control and nods.

"I saw him take Danny about twenty minutes ago in a van outside the courthouse."

_A van…_

"Warehouse. He's taking him to the warehouse. Twenty minutes…"

Rusty sprang to his feet.

"Bobby? Vincente's taken Danny to the place he took me, I'm sure of it. It's a disused meat-packing warehouse with no windows." He thought back to Friday and the journey and getting out of the van… "It's about a ten minute journey from here. And there's gravel outside and…there was…it's down by the docks. We need to move. Quickly."

"Sure we do." And some part of Rusty was ridiculously grateful that Bobby is not even trying to tell him to stay out of it.

* * *

Danny spat out the blood and winced and waited for the next punch or kick though his eye was swollen and he couldn't track his attackers that successfully. Vincente's right, they're not as clean as Vincente but they made up for quality with quantity. They're doing as Vincente instructed too and keeping away from his face and Danny was doing his best not to picture Rusty getting the message from Vincente and coming here and finding him.

"Enough," one of them said and they faded away and left Danny, beaten and bleeding and fighting to hang on.

* * *

While Bobby was busy organising his forces, Rusty had thrown the car round corners and raced red lights and he pulled up in the general area that held infinite possibilities.

"But they're all disused warehouses," Turk said helplessly.

"Then we search all of them," Saul shrugged.

Rusty was already out of the car and running.

* * *

He felt certain life was ebbing from him. He found himself thinking about things left unsaid to those who needed to know.

Tess…and Saul…and Rusty. Rusty. Rusty who knew him inside and out and that was something Danny had never bargained for in life. Someone who was that close, it felt like you were wearing the same skin. Someone you found you cared about so much more than you thought possible. Someone you realised would die for you. Someone you would die for.

* * *

Rusty broke open the door of the fifth building and snarled as it proved as empty as the other four.

Saul and Turk had taken the next block and he sprinted past them to start on the block after that.

* * *

Danny couldn't feel his feet. Somehow that seemed important and he opened his good eye and squinted upwards. They were still attached. He dropped back and gave a little yelp as he did so. Surely his body shouldn't still hurt so much. He felt the tiredness wash through him. So easy to give in to it…so easy…

* * *

Rusty was focused on the door lock of the next warehouse. Across the way, he could hear Saul and Turk cracking open another.

They would find him. They had to find him. And they had to be in time.

* * *

Somewhere, far away there was a noise and Danny hoped they weren't coming back to hurt him again.

He felt his grip on consciousness fading. He thought of Tess and Rusty. God, he hoped Tess would forgive Rusty and that Rusty would forgive himself.

And then, the darkness came.

* * *

The door to the warehouse swung open and Turk stepped through and then wished he could have stepped back again. With difficulty he found his voice.

"Here!"

Saul was nearest and therefore quickest. He too stood in the doorway and paused, horrified. Even so his wits were such that he turned and blocked Rusty before he got to the door.

"Out of my way, Saul," and Rusty's voice was low and edgy.

"Let Turk bring him out," Saul begged. "Please, Rusty."

Rusty gave him a look of incredulity and pushed him to one side.

Danny was there. Others might have had a hard time telling but Rusty would have known his left little fingernail which judging by the mess in front of him was possibly the only part left intact.

Danny was hanging upside down chained by his ankles, a small pool of blood beneath him.

"Get him down," Rusty ordered tersely.

Turk ran to the wall to release the chain as Rusty ran to Danny. He supported Danny's shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to find a pulse in the mess that was Danny's neck

"Turk, get him down now!" Rusty's voice was thick with emotion.

Turk finally mastered the mechanism and the chain slipped free. Danny came down in one awkward heap and Rusty broke his fall, going to ground with him.

Fishing in his pocket for a penknife, Saul leaned forward and sawed through the ropes around Danny's hands then tossed it down to Turk who pulled the chain free from around Danny's ankles and cut through the rope binding them as Rusty checked his pulse.

"He's not breathing!"

Rusty tore Danny's shirt open and controlled the unhelpful feelings of pain and panic that rose within him at what lay underneath. Tilting Danny's head back, he opened his mouth and cleared the airways, then ran the heel of his hand down the front of Danny's chest to the breastbone.

Turk caught his arm. "You sure you should be-"

Rusty shook him free and snapped. "He's not breathing. I'm not going to make it worse."

He tossed Turk his phone.

"Call Bobby and tell him and wait outside so that he can find us."

He ran his hand down Danny's chest again tracing the sternum and locked his hands and elbows, compressing the chest and trying not to think about ribs grinding and lungs being punctured and ruptured spleens and a hundred other internal injuries that Danny may or may not have and that he couldn't do anything about anyway.

"Count for me, Saul," he instructed and bent low over Danny's face, covering his lips with his, breathing into his mouth twice before breaking off and starting the chest compressions.

_There was a beach, long ago, and the first and last time he'd ever had to look at Danny and hope (and wish and even pray) that he was reading him right…_

"…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, breathe," Saul said.

_There was a car park and introductions…_

Rusty performed CPR as he did everything. Exceptionally.

_There was the first official job and the build up and the execution and the euphoria…_

Danny's chest was rising and falling and the circulation was being maintained.

_There was the first nightmare and the arms suddenly round him, holding him tightly, arms that didn't feel intrusive, an embrace that wasn't oppressive, and hands that were stroking his head, fingers that were stroking his hair but gently and comfortingly…_

"…breathe…"

_There was the first motel room that he'd sat in for all of ten minutes, white-lipped and quiet, until Danny had returned and seen his face and looked at the lampshade and the ceiling and dragged him out of there…_

Rusty was breathing for both of them into Danny's warm mouth.

_There was their first million and their first real spending spree and the first things they'd bought had been for each other…_

"…seven, eight, nine…"

_There was the first time he'd been frightened of losing him…_

"…two, three, four…"

_There was the first time he'd been frightened Danny was going to be the one left behind…_

"…breathe," said Saul and Rusty blew life again into Danny.

_There was the first time one of them had met someone else and the first (and last) time he'd acted so stupidly…_

Rusty's hands continued to pump Danny's chest, regularly, expertly.

_There was their first (and last) row…_

"…ten, eleven, twelve…"

_There was their first enforced separation and four years of lives on hold…_

"…breathe," Saul said and there was an edge of desperation and nihilism in there now.

_There was the first time anyone had taken three casinos…_

He was ignoring anything other than the very immediate present. He was ignoring the renewed ache in his shoulders. He was ignoring anything other than Saul and the beats and the pressure and the breathing and not thinking about Danny, not letting himself crack…

_There was the first time he hadn't been able to find a pulse…_and that was now.

"Rusty…"

"Don't you stop, Saul," he said, maintaining the rhythm, disregarding the ache in his grip.

"…perhaps you should…"

"Saul!" Rusty shot him a glare as he bent over Danny and breathed into him again.

"…he's gone, Rusty," and the sob in Saul's voice reminded him of when Annie had died.

White-lipped, Rusty continued with the chest compressions.

"Rusty…please…"

"No." It wasn't even an argument.

"Rusty, look at him…he's…look at him…" Saul pulled Rusty's arm and made him sit back.

Danny was lying, glassy-eyed, face covered in blood, body battered. There were no signs of life. Rusty sat back on his heels and looked at him.

"He's…"

"No." It was still not an argument. "Come on, Danny, you breathe, goddamn it." He started the CPR again. "Breathe!" He blew into Danny's mouth. "Come on!" His hands knotted together and forced Danny's chest muscles to work.

"Come on, you lazy fucker! You want me to do this for you as well?" He bent over Danny's face and breathed life into him again.

His fists slammed down into Danny's chest and Saul winced at the violence.

"You want me to breathe for both of us? Fuck, that's not happening!"

He brought his fists down again hard and Saul gave a little cry.

"Breathe, you son of a bitch! Breathe!"

With all of his might, he struck Danny again with a double-handed blow.

"You goddamn son of a bitch, you've never backed down from anything in your life? You want to start now? Fight! Goddamn you, fight!" And this time there was anger and grief and for the first time, just the hint of despair.

Again, he punched and this time, there was a cough. A cough and then a rattling gasp and with a shuddering sob, Rusty watched life returning into Danny's face.

"Don't you ever, ever fucking do that to me again."

Danny drew another rattling breath and tried to grin and say something and then his face screwed up in pain.

"Don't," Rusty said but Danny was insistent and Rusty bent over his face to hear:

"You wake me up just to quote "The Abyss" at me?"

"Damn right."

"Out of the way." A stranger's voice pushed Rusty aside and there were paramedics sent by Bobby and Bobby himself and Turk had come back and was crying and so was Saul and all Rusty could see were Danny's eyes and somehow he found Danny's hand and held it like he'd never let it go.

* * *

A/N: according to my good friend wiki, CPR on the whole just keeps the body breathing till the paramedics arrive. It brings very, very few people back completely. I didn't see why Danny couldn't be one of those very, very few.

And I do realise that twenty odd chapters ago I killed him. And that people have been reading this on the understanding that Danny dies. I'm hoping that the fact that he doesn't means that you won't be too mad with me.

Oh, and Rusty does indeed quote "The Abyss" at Danny. Not consciously and not quite verbatim.


	22. Patient

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: none of them are mine. Just taking them out of the toybox.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Patient

* * *

Rusty accepted the cup of hot chocolate Saul pressed into his hand.

"It's the closest thing there was to something sweet," Saul explained. He seemed to hesitate for a moment and then yet again, he said, "He'll be OK" and yet again Rusty nodded. Saying it didn't mean it would happen but the alternative was not to be thought let alone voiced.

They'd looked like they weren't going to let him in the back of the ambulance but Bobby had said something low and compelling to whoever was in charge and they'd let him climb in alongside, his fingers still clutching Danny's, his eyes fixed on Danny's face, obscured by the oxygen mask.

"Blood type?" he'd heard one of them mutter at Danny.

"O," Rusty had said and Danny's eyes had flickered thankful acknowledgement.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." It was the only ordinary thing about him.

As they'd arrived at the hospital, Danny had disappeared into unconsciousness again and they'd rushed him into emergency treatment. It was definitely among the top five worst moments of the day for Rusty and if it had been a less formal environment, they wouldn't have been able to keep him away.

A man with a clipboard had approached.

"You know the patient?"

"Yes." And he'd given all the details necessary: Danny's name, address, marital status…everything but his shoe size and he had that waiting just in case.

The man had looked at him curiously.

"What are you to him? Relationship-wise, I mean? Brother? Other?" The last word was offhand but Rusty could read the meaning behind it.

"I'm…" Rusty paused. He could lie and say they were related. That would allow him freedom to see Danny but that could get blown out of the water if they wanted to see ID. As for the second option…well, yes. But not in the way they meant it. And he'd already told them Danny was married. It wouldn't be fair to head down that route.

"I'm a friend," he said eventually and the word seemed pale and meaningless.

"OK…well, you can wait here." And the man had directed him to a seating area.

Saul and Turk had arrived as he was pacing.

"You want to sit down?" Saul had asked hopefully and he'd stopped and then slumped into a chair, hearing words and seeing looks but not hearing, not seeing.

He was still in this limbo state. After the rawness of the conversation with Vincente, he'd been cut free, falling into nothingness but Saul had brought him back and he'd pushed all emotion to one side, forced himself not to feel as he'd focused on the purpose of locating Danny. He'd not given in to the pain of the anger he'd felt at Danny and the sequestration. He'd made sure he didn't choke on the paralysis of imagining what Vincente was _doing_ to Danny. He wouldn't allow himself to contemplate _not_ discovering Danny. Instead, he'd concentrated on action. Time enough for emotion later.

Then had come the joyful horror of finding Danny; the desperate urgency to revive him as his mind replayed the past; the briefest of moments when his belief had wavered and then the sensation of being completely doused in relief as Danny had come back to him.

Right now, his feelings seemed to be making up for lost time. He realised that Saul was looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry, Saul. What?"

With a look of regret, Saul repeated himself.

"She has to know."

_Right. _

"Yeah."

"I can do it," Saul offered but Rusty was already shaking his head.

"I'm on it." He pulled his phone out then looked round and frowned. "Where's Turk?"

"I sent him to get you a change of clothes."

Uncomprehending, Rusty stared at Saul.

"You're covered in blood, Rusty," Saul said quietly. "And you might want to visit the bathroom for a little freshen up before you go visiting."

Rusty looked down at himself. Saul was right. There was dried blood down his shirt and suit. His hands were red with it. And that made his mouth twist into a tight little line. He gazed at the phone in his hand blankly for a moment and then walked a way away to make the call.

"Hi, Tess," he said and closed his eyes. Nearly the worst call he would ever have to make.

* * *

Danny came to in a private room and was pleased to be able to open both eyes. The first thing he saw was Rusty.

"Hey." His voice sounded croaky to his ears.

"Hey. How you feeling?"

"Little high."

"That'll be the pain-killers. Think they're shipping in new supplies just for you. Other than that?"

"Hurts when I breathe."

"Huh. Well, I recommend you continue."

Danny's mouth crooked into a smile. He looked over at Rusty and frowned.

"You're wearing…"

"Outfit got a little messed up. Turk brought me something to wear."

That explained it. It still didn't make the shirt easier to deal with. Danny frowned again.

"Don't think I've ever seen you in checks."

A smile flashed on to Rusty's face and off again. "I'm thinking of taking up lumberjacking. Actually," he added, "I'm just grateful he got the right size in the jeans."

"You haven't worn jeans since forever."

"Grew out of it."

There was a silence for a moment and then Danny said quietly, "Never figured you for Ed Harris."

"More Mary-Elizabeth, right?"

"You're prettier."

He saw the laughter reach Rusty's mouth only. Rusty was trying hard but his eyes said he was in hell.

"It's not your fault," Danny said and when Rusty dropped his gaze, he said insistently, "Look at me!"

Reluctantly, Rusty raised his eyes.

"I shouldn't have come to the courthouse. I should have stayed away. If I'd done that, if I'd done as you asked, everything would have gone as planned. It's my own fault for trying to be clever."

"You honestly think that, don't you?" Rusty's tone was vacant.

Danny sighed. "Of course, I do. Damn it, Rusty, don't you dare blame yourself. I'm here because of you."

Immediately, Rusty nodded in agreement and Danny gave a quick grimace.

"You know how I meant it. Don't make me get out of this bed and punch sense into you."

"Wish you would. Wish you had done."

"Rus…" Danny said with exasperation.

There was a silence for a moment.

"So. What do you reckon the food's like in here?"

"You don't get to change the subject."

"You know me, food's always close to my heart."

"Rusty…" Danny dropped back on the pillow. He just wasn't up to it. He felt himself slipping away into drugged sleep. He forced his eyelids open.

_Stay with me._

_Always._

And he reached across and took Danny's hand again.

When he was sure Danny was away, Rusty closed his eyes and started talking.

"I was so mad at you, you know. That stunt with Bobby. You standing there in court grinning your head off. Wearing those stupid shades. Locking me off in safety and leaving Vincente and you on the same side of the door."

He smiled.

"You should have seen me in that jury room. Henry Fonda had nothing on me. We turned out a verdict in record time. And then I phoned you to tell you what a complete bastard you were and…"

His face creased.

"He had you…" he whispered. "He had you and he _knew_…I felt like…it felt like…" _the worst…the absolute, absolute worst…_

He broke off and shook his head.

"There was nothing I could say. Nothing. I've never felt so…"

His face screwed up at the memory.

"And we looked for you and each wrong door we opened meant delay and delay meant longer for you on your own with Vincente…"

He swallowed hard.

"Then we found you and I don't know if I've ever been more scared…"

The last word tailed off into nothingness. He opened his eyes. Danny was still sleeping. His fingers were still wrapped in Rusty's.

* * *

Saul stuck his head round the door to ask if he wanted any food but Rusty waved him away absently.

"I've sent Turk off to a hotel," Saul said and Rusty nodded.

"You should go too," he suggested, his eyes never leaving Danny's face.

"You could do with some proper rest," Saul said and Rusty's mouth twitched into a smile and back again.

"I'm fine, Saul."

Then Saul asked the question. "What time's she getting here?"

Rusty shrugged. "Probably got another few hours yet."

He looked round at Saul. "I'm staying here."

* * *

It was later when the door opened again and Tess was ushered into the room by a doctor. Rusty turned and saw her hands rush up and cover her mouth. Gently, reluctantly, he let Danny's hand rest on top of the bed covers and stood up, stretching muscles he hadn't moved in a while. He motioned to the doctor to leave them to it.

"He's asleep, Tess," he said unnecessarily and made himself stop from flinching as he saw her eyes fixed on Danny, the shock obvious.

She hadn't ever seen him this bad, he reminded himself. She didn't have a clue about that basement in New York or that time in Europe or the Barrowby brothers in Fort Worth. Mind you, this might just eclipse all those.

He watched Tess staring down at Danny and he started to put out a hand towards her and then pulled it back again. Her pain was as open as he'd imagined and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide from it. He made himself stand there and take it. He deserved it. This and so much more.

"Do you want a drink?" he said eventually and she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"Yes…yes, please." Tess seemed to gather herself together. She looked at him again and there was more colour on her cheeks and her eyes had more focus. "Please show me where to get a coffee."

They stepped outside the room and Rusty shook his head to see Saul perched uncomfortably across three chairs, dozing restlessly.

"This way," he indicated and led Tess round the corner.

As they walked, he felt the oppression of the silence and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times because try as he might and try as he wanted to, there was nothing he could say. This was her husband. Her husband. Her husband for the second time. They'd sworn to be together in sickness and in health, till death did them part. None of the wedding vows said anything about allowing your man to be abducted and tortured. Nothing about your man's best friend being the reason behind it.

Tess bought herself a coffee and stood and drank it silently, eyes trained on the vending machine. Rusty felt the awkwardness growing and he longed to do something about it, to scratch it like the itch it was but he couldn't; the ball was firmly in Tess's court.

Eventually, she finished her drink and crumpled the cup, dropping it in to the waste bin. She turned away from the drinks machine and stared at Rusty.

"Danny stayed here because of you," she said, her brown eyes unblinking.

"Yes." Rusty felt the weight of the stare and the weight of the accusation and even more the weight of the guilt.

"Danny's _here_ because of you." Tess said evenly.

"Yes," he repeated hollowly. She meant it exactly as he had earlier.

She nodded, considering, then drew back her fist and punched him on the mouth. He recoiled with the blow but still stood there waiting. She punched him again and this time, Rusty felt the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"God, I wish I could hit like a man!" she spat. "I'd lay you out cold on this floor!"

He said nothing and this seemed to infuriate her like nothing else.

"I always knew Danny would do anything for you. Hell, he even ending up doing time, didn't he? Four years just because you couldn't cope without him around. Just had to talk him back in."

It wasn't true but it could have been. Rusty said nothing.

"And this time. Danny's lying in there this much away from death." She held up a finger and thumb indicating the slightest of measures. "And look at you. Not a mark on you. You always come up smelling of roses."

Her face twisted into a darker shade of ugly.

"You look me in the eye and tell me you didn't think this would happen. You tell me that you didn't fear this!"

He couldn't say a thing. She could read the truth in his eyes.

"You are a selfish excuse for a friend," she said coldly and the words bit deep into him.

Tess turned on her heel and walked briskly back towards Danny's room.

"Tess!"

Oh, he had to try something, anything. Every word she'd thrown at him had stung but he needed to keep the channel of communication open if things were ever going to work. After Vegas, while they were waiting for Danny, they'd talked and they'd reached a level of understanding they'd never had before and things had been easier between them, he had to try and use that before she…

He went after her and caught up with her outside the door.

"Tess…please…" It was raw and heartfelt.

"I trusted you, Rusty. I trusted you to keep him safe. I trusted you to look after him." She looked him dead in the eyes. "You blew it."

Tess's hand was on the handle of the door and he looked to follow her into the room to continue the conversation.

"Sorry, Rusty. I think we should keep the visitors down to next of kin, don't you?"

And she went in and closed the door behind her leaving Rusty shut out and alone.

* * *

It was morning. This time, Danny opened his eyes to see the other person he loved most in this world at his side.

"Tess…" he smiled and she smiled back down at him, taking his hand in hers.

"Danny…" And the love was rich in her voice. "Looks like I can't let you out of my sight for a moment."

He grinned and did his best to ignore the ache in his ribs.

"Looks worse than it is," he lied easily and saw her gaze travel over the bandages and the drips and back to his face, ready to accept the lie.

"Doctor says you're probably going to be laid up for a bit."

He continued smiling at the understatement. "Yeah, I guess so."

She looked down at their hands entwined and then swallowed hard and Danny's heart went out to her. She didn't know how to deal with this. She hadn't a clue. And this was not what she'd signed up for. This wasn't even close. Tess's idea of marriage was a life together built around home and stability and it was her misfortune to fall in love with a man whose idea of settling down was not even on the horizon. It was his reciprocal misfortune, of course. And they still loved each other enough to try and make it work.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing it wasn't enough but hoping it was anyway.

"I know," she said and the helpless tone in her voice nearly killed him.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them again.

"Where's Rusty?" he asked. "I mean I get that he's giving us a moment but…"

Her eyes were a second late meeting his. "He's outside."

Danny blinked at her. "Can you call him in for a minute?"

"We don't need Rusty," she said lightly.

"Call him in, Tess." And his tone was firmer.

"We don't need Rusty." She was insistent.

"Now, Tess." He gave her a look that brooked no argument and she sighed and got to her feet and disappeared.

Danny lay back on the pillow and muttered to himself about the female of the species.

"Hello, Danny." It was Saul coming into the room ahead of Tess. "You feeling better?"

"Better than I was," he said because it was expected and he saw Saul acknowledge the lie and tolerate it anyway.

"Where's Rusty?" he asked, not worried yet, not concerned yet because this was all still explicable.

Saul's expression wavered. "He's around."

Danny closed his eyes.

Saul tried a quick recovery. "He's probably gone to change. You should have seen him hide his reaction when Turk turned up with those clothes."

Danny opened his eyes and looked straight at Tess. "Tell me," he said gently.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me, Tess," he said again, as gently as he can.

"I don't know what you think-"

_To hell with gentleness._ "Rusty wouldn't just leave. I asked him explicitly to stay with me. What did you say?"

She flinched at his tone, urgent and demanding.

"I resent that," she said hotly. "I get a call telling me my husband is lying in a hospital bed and I drop everything to fly here to your side. And all you can do is accuse me of-"

"Tell me!" he snapped, ignoring the message from his body that his energy levels were not up to this.

"Alright. If you really want to know." She drew herself upright. "I told him that it was his fault you were lying here. That because of him, you were nearly…and that he was standing there, unhurt, uninjured, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth-"

"Tess-"

"No, Saul! I don't care! Danny's the one hurting here. Danny's the one in the hospital bed. Danny's the one who nearly died. It's always Danny who takes the fall! Rusty slides out of this like he slides out of everything!"

Danny didn't want to yell at her not least because he didn't think he physically could. Instead, he started talking quietly.

"I'd known Rusty less than two months when he pulled my ass out of the fire for the first time." He saw Tess flinch at the vulgarity and didn't care. "He's carried on doing that ever since. He did it again today, Tess. He brought me back. He gave me mouth to mouth-" he ignored the snort, "and he brought me back."

"Back to him," she said angrily.

"And back to you," he underlined. "And despite what you may think, he tried to send me back to you more than once."

"You didn't come…" There was a raw edge in her voice that he ignored.

"No. Because even though Rusty didn't want me here, he needed me here. Needed me, Tess."

She was silent.

"And he would never tell you but this hasn't been an easy ride for him either. Friday night, he couldn't stand upright. Friday night, he couldn't lift pain-killers up to his mouth. He was in unbelievable pain."

Tess blinked a little.

"Now, I know how Rusty's mind works," Danny went on calmly and clearly and he hoped to God without displaying blame. "And his first thought is going to be me. And while I can keep him here, with me, he won't go to his second thought. So, I will ask you once more, Tess, what you said to him."

She pulled a face and Danny knew he was about to get the truth, however unpalatable that might be.

"I told him he was selfish," she said in a small voice and Danny set his teeth at that but he knew that wasn't the end of it.

"And?"

She hesitated and he knew her next words had been designed to hurt Rusty as only she would know how. Able to hurt because she knew the truth.

"And?" he repeated.

She stuck her chin out defiantly. "And that only next of kin should be with you."

Danny groaned and closed his eyes and Tess and Saul moved forward anxiously. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Saul.

"You know what he's doing."

White-faced, Saul nodded. "I'll call Bobby."

"Bobby and everyone," Danny emphasised. "We need to find him fast."


	23. POV

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: own no one herein.

Chapter Twenty-Three: POV

* * *

He sat in his car outside the hospital and hung up the phone and wondered whom else he could call. Rusty had a great head start. And it wasn't as if he could put out an official description. The man could hide himself faster than a stray ace at a poker table.

"Christ, what a mess," he said to no one.

He felt like a failure. Danny had spent a long time on the phone explaining about the trial and Gino and Vincente and the little close encounter Rusty had had.

"_He doesn't think so but he needs protecting. And I'm not enough."_

He'd got sufficient from the conversation to understand that Rusty was off and running after the trial. They all knew Vincente would be chasing: Danny wanted Rusty to have the best lead possible. Sequestration had been Danny's idea and he'd happily set it up though it had taken some string-pulling and a little manipulation of facts.

With the subsequent hunt for Danny, he'd forgotten Danny's words. And now, the chase was on even if the prey had become the hunter and the hunter had become the prey.

He pulled out his phone again and dialled home.

"Hello, hon." Molly was bright and warm and he felt the same rush of comfort he always did when he heard her voice. "How's things?"

"Danny's been hurt." He didn't need to qualify that with a surname. There was only one Danny.

"God!" He knew she knew it was bad. "Does Tess know?"

"She's here with him."

"Good."

He waited and wondered then realised that Molly took it as a given. As he would.

"Rusty isn't."

"He isn't-?"

"Took off."

He heard Molly issue a mild curse and knew that she got that bit too.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, Molly." He hesitated. "Tell Linus to do the same, yeah?"

* * *

The thing was, he couldn't be mad at Tess. Not really. She'd been frightened and in shock and hurting and needed someone to lash out at. It should have been him but it was always going to be Rusty. She loved him. That was what was at the root of it. He had to make allowances for Tess.

That was the trouble though, wasn't it? Because Rusty would never need to have allowances made. Rusty always got it. Oh, there'd been that brief time where Rusty had hated the concept of Tess but the reality of Tess…Rusty had got that. Eventually. After he'd…and after _he'd_…yeah…after.

The point was that Rusty knew and _understood._ And even though, after Vegas, Tess was so much more clear about what was important to him and who was important to him and how it all fitted together and the fact that yes, there was enough room – more than enough - for both of them…even though all that…she was still prone to insecurity. And he was still working out how to convince her she had nothing to worry about on that score.

He was on his own. He'd explained in part and he'd seen her face. And then he'd left it a while so that she didn't see it as a dismissal and pretended he was exhausted (actually didn't have to pretend too hard) and suggested Tess find some food. She'd left the room and he hoped her eyes had been shining with worry for him or delayed reaction or something other than what he thought.

He was lying with his eyes closed, his mind running at high speed through perilous situations that always seemed to end up with an outcome that sent his blood pressure soaring.

It was his fault. Whatever Rusty or Tess thought, it was his fault. If he hadn't been so…well, this was why Rusty needed to know about every plan of his. To point out the parts where he was going to do something stupid.

He couldn't be mad at Rusty for leaving. And he couldn't be mad at Tess for reacting. But part of him wanted to be. With both of them. So very much. Damn it.

* * *

He saw Tess come out of Danny's room and disappear up the corridor, wiping her face as she went. He started to say something and half-stood up but she didn't hear him or didn't want to hear him and he sat back down again and stared at the door to Danny's room.

He felt like a spare part. He'd fetched the clothes and he'd felt briefly useful and then Saul had sent him off to a hotel for the night. He'd lain in bed and looked up at the ceiling and felt very alone.

_Sometime in the early hours, he can't stand it any longer and he digs out his phone. Virgil answers on the eleventh ring._

"_What's the matter, sweetheart? Did I get you out the bath?"_

"_For your information, it's the middle of the night here."_

"_Hate to disillusion you but it's the middle of the night here too."  
_

"_So what won't wait?"_

_Getting home and kicking your-_

_He takes a breath._

"_I'm still in L.A.."  
_

"_We hate that place."_

"_Yeah." They did. "Danny's been beat up."_

"_He has?" Virgil suddenly sounds wide awake. "Is it bad?"_

"_Pretty bad."_

_There is a pause. Virgil knows what "pretty bad" means._

"_Is he-is he gonna die?"_

"_He's already done that."_

"_Danny_ died_?"_

_He thinks back to the warehouse. Danny hanging upside down and lifeless. _

"_Yeah. He's alive again now, though." He hopes._

_There is another pause._

"_You…you're not…you didn't…"_

"_No, moron, I didn't die! Otherwise I wouldn't be phoning you. That's the miracle of modern live communication you're holding in your hand. I'm not a recording!"_

_There is another pause and he wonders for a moment and then-_

"_Like anyone would bother to record you!"_

"_Oh, and you would be such a draw!"_

"_Idiot!"_

"_Eloquent as ever!"  
_

"_Such a long word for this time of night!"_

"_I think you'll find it's morning."_

"_I think you'll find I'm going back to bed."_

"_Well, go!"_

"_I'm gone!"_

_He hangs up and grins. Rusty was right. _

Now, he sat back at the hospital and he'd returned to the news that Rusty was gone missing in search of Vincente. Well, he guessed that made sense. Honestly, did any of them think he wouldn't?

* * *

He had bumped into her in the corridor and taken her to the cafeteria and they were sitting either side of a table with a tuna sandwich on one side and a green salad on the other. Neither was that hungry.

"I knew it was worse than he was telling," Tess said out of nowhere and he prepared himself to listen. "I can tell when Danny isn't being strictly truthful."

He harrumphed. He was willing to bet on Danny every time over that one.

"When he said he was staying…honestly, he stayed with my blessing. But then he didn't call. And the first night, well, OK. And then the second night. And the third."

_Why didn't you phone him? _He wanted to ask but he didn't. He'd learned long ago that women operated differently to men.

"And when he _did _call…" Tess was silent. She picked up her fork and played with a lettuce leaf.

"I do get it," she said fiercely and he nodded. She undoubtedly thought she did.

"I know that he's…I know he is what he is to Danny," and her voice swallowed a sob and then dropped down to a whisper, "I just want to know if I'll ever be."

With a sigh, he leaned forward and took her hands.

"I'm no good at this, Tess. My wife was so much better. But I'll try. Danny and Rusty have been together a long time. Not just known each other, been together. Lived together. In each other's constant company. That's a lifetime of history to be going up against. And you will never, ever win that one. But you really shouldn't be trying to."

Misunderstanding him, she looked up with such misery that he sighed aloud.

"Don't you see? Both of you. Equally. Always."

He looked at her and considered for a moment and then went on:

"When we hit Benedict's casinos, Danny didn't tell Rusty the truth about why he was there. Whom he was there for. Not until everything was well underway did Rusty find out."

Tess looked at him dubiously.

"Rusty could have walked off the job. Could have thrown it all over. Instead, he made it happen for him. Because he knows that you make Danny happy. And that is what they are all about, Tess. Once you've got that in your head, I'd say you can deal with things more easily."

He bit into the tuna and made a face. No one ever did a proper sandwich anymore.

"If anything happens, he'll hate me." It was bleak.

"No," he shook his head. "He loves you, remember? He'll blame himself. It's what the pair of them do."

He tried another bite and then gave up, part of him wondering when food ever got this plastic.

"Go back and sit with him, Tess. It's been a while. He needs one of you there."

As she left, Bobby appeared behind him and watched her go.

"She beating herself up?"

"Of course. Just as Rusty was earlier. Just as Danny is now."

"Danny'll forgive her, right? If anything…I mean he needs one of them…"

"Oh, Danny'll forgive her," he agreed and the emphasis in the sentence made Bobby give his arm a squeeze.

* * *

She sat on the toilet and pressed her head against the cubicle wall and ignored the part of her that thought about germs and cleanliness.

When Danny had suggested a trip out to see Rusty, she had genuinely been happy to see him go. The little conversations and half-conversations between them that she knew about and the ones she knew she didn't know about, happened regularly enough. But Danny hadn't seen Rusty since the wedding and that was a long time. She got that.

So Danny had disappeared for a few weeks and she had taken herself off to see her relatives. She'd taken her sketchbook and paints and visited some pretty places. She'd drawn up sweeping interior decoration plans that would transform their home into everything stylish and modern.

And she'd waited.

When he'd phoned, she'd thought the worst but she'd believed him when he'd said that Rusty needed him. And she'd trusted Rusty. Rusty who would send Danny home if there was any trouble. Because that's what she would do in his shoes. She would keep Danny safe.

And then she'd waited some more.

With the next phone call, she'd tried her level best not to sound needy and clingy and female. She tried not to sound accusing and angry and demanding. And she'd not asked him to come home in so many words because she just wasn't that brave.

Now, the waiting was worse.

Danny's last phone call had been more of the same. He was fine; he wasn't in trouble; he was coming home. Just not right away. And she was happy he'd called and it was good to know he was alright but he was still staying away. Still staying away because of Rusty.

The agony of waiting reached fever pitch.

And then Rusty had called.

_She'd have known it anyway because it's him making the call but she can hear it straightaway in his voice._

"_Rusty? Oh, God! No, Rusty, no…"_

_The tears start flowing even as Rusty starts telling her that Danny isn't dead, that he's alive, he's alive, but he's in a bad way._

"_You need to be here."_

And she'd dropped everything to come running.

She'd taken the only option - economy – and not minded. She'd eaten the packaged food mechanically and not complained. She'd sat next to the most boring woman in the world who only wanted to show her the 300 photos of her cat and not cared. All that mattered was Danny. All that ever mattered was Danny.

The flight seemed to take forever. It was certainly long enough for her to move out of deep shock and to start to think about how this had happened. _Why _this had happened. Because there was only one reason.

_The man is beautiful. This is not the first time she's seen him but it is always the first thing she sees. The first thing, surely, that anyone sees. He walks with an easy grace and he seems to draw and shun every eye that's on him as he does so. For someone with such obvious beauty, he does not seem the slightest bit vain._

_And he's walking up to Danny, walking up to him as if Danny is the only man in the room. His eyes are alive with…she can't work that out but amusement is in there and intelligence and warmth…and as she watches, she sees Danny's eyes: the exact same look is in them. And she realises that for Danny, this is the only man in the room, too._

_She looks again sharply at the other. The way he looks at Danny…she is certain about Danny but she wonders whether the other is waiting…tempting…ready…_

She's always wondered. Just a little. Even though she knows nothing's happened. Nothing has ever happened. Still a tiny part of her wonders whether Rusty wants it to. And an even tinier part wonders whether Danny wants it too.

She'd rushed through the airport and grabbed a cab and given the address of the hospital and galloped down corridors till she found the room and the doctor who gave her a brief version of events that she didn't really listen to except to hear how serious it all was and how her husband had nearly died and then she'd opened the door and seen him and the bottom had properly fallen out of her world.

_Danny. He is all she can see. He fills her eyes. He is all her eyes can focus on. And then she sees his hand, fingers intertwined with… Of course, he was here. Of course, Danny was here and so he would be too._

_Standing up, he tells her Danny's asleep as if she couldn't see that. He looks as beautiful as ever. He hasn't got a mark on him. Her husband is lying in bed in bandages and tubes and hurt and in so much pain and so nearly not with her but he is standing there without a scratch on him. He asks whether she wants a drink and she does, a stiff one, but she'll settle for a coffee._

_They walk in silence to the vending machine and as they do so, all the anger and hurt and rejection of the past few days surges through her and mixes with the old fears and anxieties. _

_She buys herself a coffee and drinks it, too hot but she drinks it, not daring to look at him, hoping that the coffee will settle her fury because there is a part of her that knows what Danny would say, knows what Rusty would say, knows she should wait to hear what Danny and Rusty would say. There is a part of her that is arguing fiercely with herself. But that part won't win. Because the minute she throws the cup away and turns and sees him standing with apology and guilt all over him, the battle is lost._

_She throws accusation after accusation at him. She punches him. He takes it all without a word. As if he wants her blame, wants to be punished. She guesses that Danny isn't throwing any fault in his direction. Well, that's OK, because she's ready to throw plenty._

_She has no idea what they've been caught up in but she knows the answer before she asks him: he knew this was something that could happen. He knew. He knew and he risked Danny's life and she does not see how he could have done that because she never would._

_And throughout this, there is still that little voice telling her she's got this wrong. Angrily, she pushes the little voice away. Pushes it away and uses the one thing she's got over him that he can never have, short of them getting married. The legal right to be beside Danny._

She'd closed the door on Rusty with a certain amount of satisfaction and she'd sat down next to Danny and the tears had come. Ridiculous, she'd told herself, that you could love another person so much that it hurt. Ridiculous that that other person could hurt you and you could still love so much.

He'd looked so pale. _Blood loss_, she heard the doctor saying, _internal injuries, bruising…_ His face was relatively untouched. Just that swelling near his eye and that looked like it was going down.

No one has told her what's happened. No one has explained. And no one has seemed in a rush to help her understand. This was Danny's world. A man's world. And she hated being the outsider.

Right now, this world belonged to Danny and her.

As she sat there, the little voice started again. Because it knew that soon Danny would wake up and then explanations might be due even though she was sure Rusty wouldn't say a word. She cringed inside at Danny's face when he worked it all out. Because he would. He just would.

The waiting was purgatory.

She'd been sitting there forever when Danny finally woke and the relief and love coursed through her as he smiled up at her. God, she loved this man. This impossible, incorrigible man. And for a few brief, glorious moments, the world that consisted of the two of them continued to revolve.

Then Danny had asked for him. And he wouldn't let it go. She'd conceded defeat and walked out looking for him. He was bound to be slumped in a chair or leaning against a wall just _waiting._

He was nowhere.

She shook Saul awake.

"Have you seen Rusty?"

Saul hadn't and she didn't understand the sudden flicker of fear that ran across his face.

"Danny wants him," she said heavily and Saul had followed her back into the room.

How Danny knew, she didn't know. He did. He always did and she'd known he would. She just didn't know how. She'd gotten defensive and then aggressive and tried to show that it was all because she loved him. She still didn't understand the fear that showed itself in Danny's face. She didn't understand the urgent exhortation to ring everyone. She just knew that Rusty had gone and Danny wanted him back and she wondered if she would ever command his love that way.

Saul had gone and Danny had slumped back into his pillows and looked at her with eyes that forgave and that were hurting so badly. And he'd talked some more around what had happened. She'd heard about the jury service and the rigged trial and the man who tried to be persuasive with Rusty and the plan to protect Rusty and the fact that it had backfired. Danny hadn't gone into details but she understood that this man was responsible. And now she understood where Rusty had gone.

The toilet walls were sterile and cold and she felt them close in on her.


	24. Hunt

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: oh, not mine.

A/N: I give in. Naked!Rusty.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Hunt

_

* * *

_

Eight weeks later.

It was midday. Rusty lay naked on the bed in Rio and tried to decide whether or not it was hotter than yesterday. The humidity was draining and he thought longingly of a roach-free room with air-conditioning. Tracking someone who didn't want to be found never seemed to take you to the more salubrious parts of cities.

_The door closes on Danny and Tess and he stands on the outside and leans his head against it. He can understand the hurt and the pain and the blame. Hell, he can _feel_ the hurt and the pain and the blame. _

_As he stands and listens to Saul's fitful snoring behind him, he decides his options are two in number. One, he can wait for Danny to come round and explain and then he can walk in the room and see Tess who would be sorry for some but possibly not for all, and see Danny who would be anything but reproachful and who would ask him with his eyes once again to stay with him. He could do that._

_Or he can do what he's planned to do in a few days' time anyway when Danny is further along the road to recovery. And the plus side of doing it now is that the trail will be fresh._

The pursuit had started with a visit to the other member of the jury who'd been visited by Vincente, one Zachary K Watson. Bizarrely, there were fourteen Z Watsons in the phone book. Only one had the middle initial that had been monogrammed on the handkerchief with which Zach had spent most of his time in the jury room mopping his brow.

_Zach lives on his own. His flat is simple to break into and he is equally easy to surprise, quivering in bed in his pyjamas, empty cup of cocoa and novel with a bookmark on his bedside table._

_Rusty has decided that he really doesn't have time for politeness and since he's seen how effective threat has been with Zach, he elects to use it. _

_Zach Watson is soft and easy and Rusty doesn't need to hit him to get him to talk although when Zach says, "All I did was call him. All I did was tell him the verdict", Rusty finds it difficult to unclench his fist and tell his arm to keep at his side. _

"_You have a number for him."_

_Zach does and Rusty takes it with him._

He rolled over on his side and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror propped up on the table. He had gone a deep bronze and his hair was bleached almost white with the sun. His beard was showing a full eight weeks' growth and was well past the itching stage.

Robert Charles was non-existent and you had to look quite hard to find Rusty. Except that there were the eyes, of course: focused, controlled, resolute.

_He is on his way to the airport with his three passports and his toothbrush when he calls Vincente. There is no answer, just an impersonal messaging service and Rusty hangs up. Every chance that Vincente will have ditched the phone anyway. If people are after him – if other people are after him – he won't plan on answering. _

_He thinks about calling another number. His fingers hesitate over the keypad but they don't dial. He hates the thought of Danny's phone in Vincente's hands._

With disinterest, he listened to the arguments being carried on in strident Portuguese outside the window. Apparently Silvia had caught Renato around his sister's flat. With her sister. And her sister's best friend. Who was called Ricardo. And a watermelon was involved. Actually he had to admit that at that point his interest was a little piqued.

_He figures he has a bit of lead time and apart from the priority of buying a new outfit, he wants to make the most of it. He's toyed with the idea of a trip to West Virginia and a little dinner date with Thalia. Thalia is the other Fed whose first thoughts about Rusty are sympathetic in nature; __Bobby has intimated that the Feds have information on Vincente and Rusty is certain that with a little persuasion, Thalia might do a little digging on his behalf._

_Reluctantly - not least because while Thalia's thoughts wouldn't go down the path to arrest any more than Bobby's would, they might involve a little up close and personal interview - he decides that he can't take the time to make the trip. He doesn't know when Danny will wake up and although the pain-killer dosage was high, he doesn't want to take any chances. When Danny wakes up and finds him absent, he'll know. And Rusty regrets the pain that will cause Danny almost as much as he regrets being the cause of the physical pain Danny is in now. In a way, he wants to thank Tess for shutting him out. Because he wonders if he would have found the strength to leave without her being there for Danny._

_Instead, Rusty sits in the coffee shop at the airport and calls round his contacts, offering up a name and a description and the knowledge that a favour would be owed. _

_Eventually, he strikes gold with Letitia who likes to flirt as well as give out information. Rusty does a good job of balancing the two._

"_I know a Vincente…works for the Mob…about your height, grey eyes, brown hair, not as pretty as you though…"  
_

"_Oh, you know all about pretty, Letitia."_

_She laughs. "You are such a flatterer."_

"_This Vincente that you know…"_

"_Ugly Vincente…"_

"_Ugly Vincente…do you know where he'd go to hole up?"_

"_He travels all over…but I heard tell he's got contacts in South America. You might want to look up a man called Corrigan in Mexico City. He knows everyone's business."_

_Rusty nods to himself. He knows Corrigan._

"_Thanks, Letitia. You stay being beautiful."_

"_You, too."_

Mexico City had been fruitful and discussion with Corrigan had led him down to Cartagena and from Cartagena, where he'd nearly caught up with Vincente, he'd made his way to Rio and a casual acquaintance who had been no help whatsoever. Rusty had had to start from scratch and painstakingly build up his lines of enquiry. It was not easy working blind but he had the advantage of the language and currency was easy enough to acquire. And although the speed of knowledge gathering was frustrating, in a way, Rusty severely relished the amount of effort he had to put in. It kept his mind occupied.

Even as he worked, he'd remembered to do the one thing that he knew he had to. Because if the shoe were on the other foot, it would be the one thing he would depend on. He glanced at his watch. Time to do it again. Sitting up, he picked up his phone and dialled the number.

"Kirsty!" he said with a smile. "Do they still have you working evenings? I asked them to move your rota."

"Oh, I don't mind, Mr Ryan," she said with a hint of a giggle. "It has its compensations."

He heard the hint of flirt in her voice and smiled again. Good job it wasn't a video-phone. It was often Kirsty when he called. It had been Kirsty who had passed on the message from Vincente two days after he'd left Danny at the hospital.

"_A man called and asked for you, Mr Ryan. He said to tell you something you value more than anything can be found in a warehouse…" _

_He listens to Kirsty stumble over the address, all the time his fingers gripping the phone, thinking what state Danny would have been in by that point if they hadn't found him…_

_Rusty discovers his desire to find Vincente reinforced a thousand-fold._

He tucked the phone under his ear and started dressing.

"You know what I'm going to ask, Kirsty."

"Same text message?"

Rusty could tell she thought this was a crazy game.

"Hershey's shipment intact," he confirmed, fastening his belt and then grinned. "You can add "though slightly melting"."

"Actually, Mr Ryan…"

His senses were suddenly on full alert and his finger hovered over the button to end the call. Too late, he heard Saul's voice.

"Robert."

"Damn it, Saul," he said without anger, "have you been hanging out at the hotel just waiting for me to call?"

"Pretty much," Saul confessed. "Since you're not answering your phone." He added quickly, "It's Danny's idea."

Rusty'd been about to end the call again but that stopped him in his tracks. Trust Danny to work out he was using the hotel to launder his messages to Saul. He asked the question he'd been desperate to ask since he'd left.

"How is he?"

At the other end of the phone, he could almost sense Saul's hesitation because this was one sure way to bring Rusty home.

"He's healing," Saul said eventually. "He'd heal faster if you were back here."

"He's got Tess. As long as he's got one of us," Rusty said without emotion and added, "I'm keeping in touch. This is just as it would have been if things had gone to plan."

"Rusty…" Saul's disapproving tone was loud and clear then in a different voice, he went on, "Danny's doing OK, I suppose, he's out of intensive care and got his own private room. He's stable and everything internal seems to be on the mend plus he-"

"What do you think, Saul?" Rusty cut across him. "Three minutes for Bobby's men to find me? Tell me that I'm wrong."

There was silence.

"Be careful," Saul said.

"Look after him," Rusty replied and hung up.

He got to his feet and pulled the rest of his clothes on. Then he picked up the gun, spinning the barrel and checking it.

* * *

The bar was heaving and Rusty hung back against the wall with a beer, watching and waiting. This was where the intelligence had led him. This was the hunting ground. This was where he would find him.

He let the party people push past him and studied the crowd with interest. Olive-skinned beauties of both sexes…a few pale tourists who had definitely wandered into the wrong side of town…a few dealers and those in the know hanging round them… Rusty sighed. It was going to be a long stakeout.

* * *

Two am, he spotted him walk in. Shaven-headed, wearing a linen suit, carrying himself with that familiar air of invincibility. He ordered a drink at the bar and leant back against it, eyes on the room, watchful. Rusty wondered if he was waiting for someone or simply being cautious. Then he decided that the two were not mutually exclusive.

He kept in the shadows, his eyes on him the whole time. He hadn't come so far to lose him now.

After a couple of hours, Vincente said farewell to the barman and walked towards the exit. If he had been waiting for someone, they hadn't shown. Rusty moved casually through the crowd, tracking him, careful to blend, careful not to make any sudden movements that would draw attention.

Once they were outside, it was harder. There were fewer people around this early in the morning and the streets were littered with bottles and the occasional body where someone hadn't quite made it home before collapsing.

Rusty was as good a tail as you would find. Calm and relaxed and confident and he gave Vincente a good lead through the streets until Vincente turned into a dense and winding area of the city where houses fell on top of each other and doorways were numerous and gaping. Then, he had to get closer. Still, Vincente did not see him. Still, Vincente headed onwards. Rusty followed stealthily.

They entered a little square with numerous exits and Rusty hung back slightly, not wanting to get caught in the open. As Vincente was on the verge of leaving, Rusty walked silently through the lightening shadows at the side and then, with unfortunate timing, a pair of cats scooted across his path, hissing and fighting. Vincente's head half-turned and Rusty froze, backing in to the wall beside him. Then Vincente continued on his way with not even a backward glance.

With foreboding, Rusty hurried after him but the street Vincente had chosen was empty. No sign of him anywhere. Throwing quick glances at every door, Rusty broke into a run trying his best to pick up the trail. It stayed cold.

Retracing his steps through the square, the squabbling cats reappeared and Rusty scowled down at them: he really was more of a dog person.

* * *

He hit the same bar the following night. It was the best lead he had and there was always the thought that Vincente might be back to meet whomever he didn't get to meet.

Vincente didn't show.

* * *

The next night, he sat on the bed and looked at his phone and sighed. The hotel was out. He thought about the contacts he could trust to pass the message on and there were several but the ones that he could trust to pass it on exactly and quickly…

It was possible that they'd called him. But they wouldn't think of him as Rusty's first choice. And Rusty could talk him through the text message. He made his mind up and punched the number, keeping an eye on the clock.

_Three minutes…_

As soon as the phone was answered, Rusty knew they had indeed called him. A string of fast and furious Cantonese flew his way.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm _being _careful."

The words became disbelieving and Rusty heard the equivalent of a "huh" which told him Yen was picking up far too many bad habits.

"Yen, I need you to do something for me."

_Two and a half minutes…_

There was silence and then Rusty frowned because something had changed. Something…

_Oh…_

"Yeah."

"What did you do? Get them all along to your bedside?"

"Pretty much."

_Unbelievable._

He could see the shrug and he heard him say, "They all came".

There was another pause while Rusty thought about the implications of that. And aside from a very crowded hospital room, it said a lot about the lot of them and the two of them: Rusty swallowed a little at the sentiment expressed.

_One and a half minutes…_

"How you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Probably get out of here the next week or so."

"Good." Relief flooded through him.

"And then I'm coming after you."

"Danny..." Rusty shook his head.

"You know it's happening."

"It's a stupid idea."

"You'd know all about that."

Rusty said nothing.

"Come back, Rusty," Danny said, his voice raw with emotion and Rusty knew how much it would hurt to let that show in a room full of people. "Please."

_One minute…_

Rusty leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about the phone conversation with Vincente and the chase to find Danny and _finding_ him and the feelings of fear and pain washed over him as biting as ever.

_Half a minute…_

"I will. Just not yet."

"Rus…" And there was pain and fear almost too much to bear in his name.

"Bye, Danny."

And he hung up.

* * *

Still holding Yen's phone to his ear, Danny frowned as the line went dead. He hung up and passed it back to Yen. Yen took it off him with a few choice words that ended in "fuck up". Danny nodded in complete agreement.

He looked round the hotel suite at the other men and Tess. Her eyes were full of concern and he gave her a quick nod of reassurance. Part of him was absurdly relieved that he hadn't had to try to lie to Rusty about still being laid up. Even at the end of a phone he doubted he'd be able to do that easily.

He turned to Livingston.

"Tell me you got him."

"Takes the Feds three minutes," Livingston said, adjusting the tracer. He beamed at Danny. "Takes me two."


	25. Apprehension

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty isn't mine. And Vincente is. Sometimes life's just not fair.

A/N: am going to credit otherhawk with the whole treacle image. Just too good not to spread further.

So. More naked!Rusty, anyone?

Chapter Twenty-Five: Apprehension

* * *

It was the sixth night since he'd seen Vincente at the bar and Rusty was feeling increasingly desperate. He'd spent the daytimes working the streets that led from the square, hoping that he'd catch a glimpse of him. Nothing. He'd been back to the bar each night. Not a sign. And Rusty couldn't help but worry that Vincente had spooked and fled.

It was around midnight. Rusty ordered a drink at the bar and the barman acknowledged him. Rusty guessed he'd become a regular. The barman handed the beer over, took the money and punched a number into his cell phone pretty much at the same time. It was a feat that drew admiration from Rusty for its dexterity even though it said little for the man's customer service.

He found his place along the wall where he could see the entrance but not be seen and he swigged the beer, watching the crowd below. It was busy as ever and as he drank, Rusty's eyes were everywhere.

Ten minutes later, just as Rusty was considering going back for another drink, Vincente arrived, bought a beer from the barman and then lucked in to a recently vacated booth at the back of the room.

As he saw Vincente take his seat, the anger and the adrenaline started to work its way through Rusty. This was Vincente; Vincente, who had turned his world upside down in a week, a week that seemed so long ago; Vincente, who had aimed to take away what Rusty held dear; Vincente, who had discovered just exactly what that was and how to use that knowledge to his best advantage. Just because Danny had survived didn't take away what Vincente had tried to do.

Part of him wanted to argue the sanity of taking Vincente on outside but Rusty's mind was made up. This time, he didn't intend to let Vincente leave the bar alone. Maybe, not leave the bar at all.

He walked carefully and casually towards the booth, stepping effortlessly through the crowd, dancing round the drinkers and the tourists and the dealers and their customers. One man fell drunkenly against him, clutching at him, grabbing at his jacket and Rusty steadied him with an atypical rush of temper. With a sudden thought, he patted his pockets quickly but his phone was still there and so was his wallet. This wasn't a dip, this was simple inebriation.

Rusty checked the gun tucked into the back of his waistband and he pulled it free and held it down by his thigh.

Vincente was all that mattered. Vincente was in his sights.

"Mind if I join you?"

To give him credit, Vincente didn't react beyond a small smile.

"Mr Ryan. As I live and breathe."

Eyes like ice, Rusty slid into the seat opposite him.

"Hands where I can see them," he warned and Vincente pressed his palms down flat on the top of the table. Neither of them needed to look underneath to know that the gun in Rusty's hand was pointing straight at Vincente.

"Just remember Han shot first."

"Does this make me Greedo?" Vincente asked, amusement in his eyes.

"It makes you careful and precise," Rusty advised. "No sudden movements, no grand gestures, just exactly what I say."

"Fair enough," Vincente nodded.

"You must have known I'd find you," Rusty went on.

Vincente shrugged. "Thought you might come after me. Didn't know you'd catch up."

"Nearly had you in Cartagena."

"Ah…" Vincente nodded as if something suddenly made sense. "It was you at the airport."

"Guilty."

Vincente looked at him intently. "Where are we headed, Mr Ryan?"

"You know why I'm here."

"I want to hear you say it."

Rusty smiled. "You think I have any problem in telling you exactly what I'm going to do?"

Vincente pursed his lips contemplatively. "I think you haven't killed anyone before, Mr Ryan. I think that however calm and deliberate you are – and you are, believe me – you haven't pulled a trigger and watched a man's life disappear before you. You've never used a knife to feel the life you're taking away."

"You've got plenty of experience in both, of course."

"Of course," Vincente agreed readily. "I am only ever about the results."

"Well, that's what's brought us to this situation."

Vincente studied him for a moment, looking for something that Rusty couldn't fathom.

"It took me forever to work out, you know."

"So you said," Rusty said evenly.

"Even now…it's nothing I've come across before, Mr Ryan. And I salute the pair of you for the depth of this…friendship." He looked at Rusty's face. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"When?" Though he knew the answer.

"When I said it would hurt you more."

Underneath the table, Rusty's fingers tightened on the gun. He kept his face and eyes completely steady.

"It was purely business," Vincente went on. "It really was. Just a logical consequence."

"So's this."

"If it helps, he was very brave."

Rusty's mouth felt dry. Hearing about Danny's suffering was very far from the top of his list of favourite things.

"He didn't beg or plead or cry or scream."

Rusty heard the echo of his own words and bit his lip.

"He didn't say much either. Though I think he would have liked to have a last few words with you."

Sweat trickled down the side of Rusty's face and he wiped it away with the hand that wasn't holding the gun.

"I did think about passing the phone over to him but to be honest, time was pressing. And I am never about the sentiment."

"No, I can see that," Rusty agreed, blinking a little. It seemed warm all of a sudden. He shook his head to try and clear it.

"What's the plan, Mr Ryan? Pull the trigger in here? A little public, isn't it?"

"Dare say they've seen worse," he said.

"You got your way out planned? Is it sound? Are we talking Al Pacino here?"

Rusty grinned dangerously.

"Let's just say my exit strategy's got a better life expectancy than yours."

"I wouldn't count on it," Vincente said mildly.

The sweat was running freely now and Rusty wiped his forehead and ran the back of his hand over his mouth and beard. He blinked again and felt his breathing pattern changing, slowing down. Damn. What the hell was up? He suddenly lurched forward and put out a hand to the table to steady himself.

"Keep your hands on the table," he ordered, his voice unnaturally loud in his ears.

"My hands haven't moved," Vincente pointed out. "What's the matter, Mr Ryan?"

The matter was hard to define. But his vision was swimming and he seemed to be gradually losing all command of his muscles. With difficulty he held himself upright and sat back against the seat, licking his lips.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Vincente asked solicitously.

Rusty stared at him: the man opposite him was all too unsurprised.

"Wh-what did you do?" he managed.

Vincente smiled.

"When I realised I'd picked up a tail a few nights back, I guessed it was from here. I also thought whoever it was might try to find me here again. So I came back to check things out."

Rusty started to shake his head.

"Oh, you won't have seen me however hard you looked. It took me quite some time to find _you _though, Mr Ryan. Congratulations. Your professionalism is in no doubt."

"What did you do?" Rusty forced the words out again though his head was pounding and his body felt like it was out of control.

"Had a little word with the barman," Vincente said quietly, watching him and Rusty blinked at him.

"The beer." Rusty sighed, realising. "The beer and the phone call."

"Flunitrazepam," Vincente supplied helpfully.

Rusty searched his memory though it was like herding treacle.

"Rohypnol?" he whispered.

Vincente looked impressed.

"Takes about fifteen to twenty minutes to work. Effects vary but they include aggression, impaired vision and of course, muscle relaxant and sedation. The effects last for quite a few hours."

He looked keenly at Rusty.

"I'm guessing right now it's an effort to make coherent speech. It's difficult for you to focus on me or anyone. And when you stand up…" He shrugged.

"Ohhh…" It was long and drawn out and pained.

"What do you know? Greedo wins this time." Vincente's hands reached under the table and took the gun from Rusty's unresisting fingers and smuggled it away into his jacket. "Let's go for a walk, Mr Ryan."

He stood up from the table and reached down to pull Rusty to his feet. Vincente's right arm snaked under Rusty's jacket and held him firmly round his waist, his left hand pulling Rusty's arm around his own shoulder and holding on to it as if they were good friends, one helping the other up and out. Rusty tried to break free but his limbs refused to obey him.

"Steady now."

"Get-off-me…" Every word was a struggle.

"Oh, I think you need me just to stay upright."

Vincente guided him through the crowd and Rusty staggered with him, held up and held close by the man he'd come to kill. Faces loomed into his. Eyes and mouths and hair swam in front of him and he screwed his eyes up, trying to shut out the nightmarish swarm.

Rusty tried to think about everything he knew about Rohypnol. The effects were immediate and powerful and debilitating. And it wasn't known as a date rape drug for nothing. Eventually, there would be blackouts. Eventually, there would be amnesia. He would pass out and when he woke up he would have no clear memories of what had happened. Except that he wasn't sure Vincente planned to have him wake up.

They hit cooler air and that was how Rusty worked out they were outside the bar. He opened his eyes and found the street lights were random and blazing. Rusty's eyes blurred them into an unbearable streak that made him turn away from them, turn away and, God help him, cling to Vincente as if his life depended on it.

"That's right, Mr Ryan, hold on tight." Vincente's arms were strong and steadfast and never letting him go and Rusty's brain struggled with the hateful comparison.

Rusty found it easier to concentrate on the street beneath his stumbling feet, the stones that flew away from him like a river, like water running away from him.

"Hey! Is there a party?" he heard.

Rusty forced his head up. A handful of the colourfully dressed and flamboyantly styled were in their path.

"That's right, gentlemen," Vincente replied in perfect Portuguese, shifting his grip on Rusty and pulling him closer. "But I'm afraid it's a private party."

"Shame," said one, reaching out and running elegant fingers down the front of Rusty's shirt.

"He's so pretty," another pouted.

"Is he OK?" came the question, not seriously concerned, just making conversation.

Vincente smiled and looked down at Rusty, his head lolling on his shoulders. Rusty stared up at him, blinking furiously.

"He's absolutely fine. Aren't you?"

"You-you-" The words wouldn't come out and Rusty moaned with exasperation. There was a little ripple of thrill from those present.

"We'll be going now," Vincente said firmly and pulled Rusty away, away from the people, away from the lights and down a dark street.

"Now, Mr Ryan, we are just going to take this little short cut."

The walls of the alleyway closed in on him, pushing him further into Vincente's side. They hadn't got more than halfway down it when two men melted out of the shadows in front of them.

Rusty squinted at them. Young and fearless and macho. No doubt thinking this drunk and his friend were easy targets. He caught the glint of the knives and he knew that this was going to go badly one way or the other. And he had a strong suspicion it was going to be the other.

"Stop there, amigos," one of them said, "and hand over your wallets."

"Believe me, you really don't want to be doing this," sighed Vincente.

"But we are and we're in a hurry," the other said fiercely.

Vincente sighed again. "I do not have time for this."

He manoeuvred Rusty round and gripped the lapels of his suit and lowered him to the alley floor, propping him up against the wall.

"Stay," Vincente instructed as Rusty glowered at him then turned back to the men. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Rusty rested his head against the wall, willing himself to move. Gritting his teeth, he turned himself on to all fours and started to crawl away, every movement an immense effort of concentration. Behind him, he heard flesh being pummelled and cries of pain and then a sickening snap followed almost immediately by a second. And then there was silence.

He hadn't managed to get more than a little way away before Vincente was there, hauling him to his feet and tutting.

"What part of "don't go anywhere" did you fail to understand, Mr Ryan?" he asked with mock-severity. "This way."

They moved past the bodies, Vincente kicking them aside without a second thought.

"This is Rio," he shrugged. "People expect this kind of thing."

Rusty lost track of where Vincente was leading him. They seemed to be heading away from the residential and the lights and then he found sand under his feet and he understood that the roaring in his ears was down to the ocean. He fought to hold on to consciousness.

They passed a man and woman, entwined and giddy who yelled over something unintelligible.

"My friend's had a bit too much to drink," Vincente shouted back. "Off to sober him up."

They swayed their way down the moonlit beach, until Vincente pulled him in to a small alcove of rocks, just below a run of villas.

"Mr Ryan? Rusty? You still with me?"

Rusty blinked at him. He couldn't make his mouth deliver the words he wanted to; he couldn't make his hands clench into fists nor could he make his arms swing punches. All he could do was rest up against the roughness of the rocks and watch and wait for Vincente's next move.

Vincente's next move was surprising.

"This is a very exclusive area of beach, Mr Ryan," Vincente explained as he removed Rusty's jacket. "These villas up here are owned by the rich. I should know. I'm borrowing one at the moment."

He carefully unbuttoned Rusty's shirt and pulled it from his body. Rusty felt the cool ocean breeze hit his skin and he gave a reflexive shiver. The part of his brain that was still functioning was busy reminding him that non-consensual removal of his clothes never ended happily.

Vincente stepped back and looked at Rusty, considering, and then pulled him away from the rocks. Rusty hit the sand in a heap and Vincente stripped the rest of his clothes from him, talking as he did so.

"Even though this is an exclusive area, still you find the odd tourist who comes here to swim."

Straightening up, he fished through Rusty's jacket picking out his phone and his wallet and passports. Then he folded Rusty's clothes into a tidy pile, his shoes on top and left them on the top of the rocks.

"You know, if I were into trophies, this would be particularly apt, don't you think?" He held up Rusty's phone and pulled Danny's cell phone from his pocket. "Mr Ocean has had some really interesting messages, you know? Guess not everyone knows he's deceased."

"Anyway. I think…" he checked the passports, "...Mr Thomas O'Leary from Illinois sadly had too much confidence in his ability to hold his drink and swim."

He tucked the relevant identification back in Rusty's clothing and pocketed both phones. Then he looked down at Rusty, unclothed and unable to express or protect himself.

"Long, slow and final, Mr Ryan. Remember?"

Rusty felt his grip on consciousness fading still further. Vincente bent down and grunting slightly, pushed Rusty's body so that it rolled down into the waves. The water was warm and refreshing and its invigorating effect, combined with Rusty's certain knowledge now of what Vincente had planned, lent him strength. Exerting himself to his limits, he raised himself up on his elbow.

Immediately, Vincente kicked his elbow away and stamped his foot down on Rusty's shoulder, holding him down, holding him in place as the waves lapped along his body, washing gently up to his body, washing over his body and made him cough as his mouth caught the seawater.

"Tide comes in quickly here," Vincente said conversationally. "But don't worry, I'll keep you company however long it takes."

* * *

Rusty spits out the water from another wave. He stares up at Vincente, in control, in power; he feels the weight of Vincente's foot pressing down and keeping him immobile; he knows he is facing a man who leaves emotion behind and who is as fixed as the North point on a compass. The wave washes up to his head again and he holds his breath as it passes.

_Danny…_ he thinks for the first time since Vincente turned the tables and cannot stop the tear leaking out of his eye. He is grateful that Vincente will not be able to see it.

_Danny… _he thinks again and remembers the beach where it started and finds it fitting that it should all end on one.

_Danny… _he wishes he could take away the pain and the anguish and the loneliness and he is pleased that he will have Tess to help him through it.

_Danny…_ he tries to imagine things being different and other and can't. He was meant to find Danny. They were meant to be together. And it has been the best.

The waves are closing over his head now and his opportunity for taking a breath is brief and limited and any time now the opportunity is going to disappear entirely and all he can feel is Vincente's foot pinning him in place and all he can see, looking up through the water, is Vincente, staring down at him impassively, watching him die.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. Um...sorry?

And at the risk of sounding like a Government Information Film, please watch your drinks when you're out, chaps. I did not make Rohypnol up.


	26. Search1

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: own no one you'll recognise.

A/N: This was in danger of turning into an insanely long chapter so I've chopped it, hopefully not too brutally, in roughly half.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Search1

* * *

Hands pull him up out of the water. He hears a heartfelt "Damn!" and he is swung up over a strong shoulder. And then he blacks out.

_

* * *

_

Three days earlier.

The toughest thing was narrowing down who went: they all offered.

"We can't all go," Danny said. "We need to keep the channels open this end and we need to be prepared in case Rusty takes off."

He looked over at Linus. "And we also need to involve Bobby. He'll have local contacts we can tap into."

"I shall go," Saul said quietly and Danny knew there was no shifting him.

"OK," Danny looked round at the faces, thinking about how helpful each would be where and came to a decision. "Saul, Turk and Linus."

They each nodded.

"But not you, Danny," Reuben said gently.

"What?" Danny thought he'd misheard.

Saul was nodding. "You're just out of hospital. You're just recovering. You need to finish healing."

"That's right, mate." Basher looked regretful. "Don't want no incidents, do we?"

Everyone started talking at once - _"You probably need to be here, Danny," Virgil said hesitantly. "In case he rings or something." "Or something," Turk echoed sarcastically. "What else is he going to do? Use semaphore?" –_ Livingston offering to set things up remotely, Frank and Yen offering to go instead, Linus offering to run the contacts…

"Enough," Danny said, raising his voice and silence fell.

"Danny goes."

The words came from the most unlikely of sources and all eyes turned to Tess.

"Danny goes," she said again firmly and he smiled at her, his eyes, warm and loving and thankful, and saw her face flush happily.

"Thank you, everyone, for your concern," Danny acknowledged. "I appreciate it. But as my wife has just said, I am going. That isn't up for discussion. Are we clear?"

* * *

"I want to come too."

Danny turned on his side and looked at her, hair splayed over the pillow.

"I want to come with you," she said. "I don't want to be left behind."

He reached down and caught up her hand and pressed it to his lips. "No, Tess."

"No, what?"

"No, you're never left behind. You're always with me. And no, you're not coming."

Her expression grew troubled. "I wouldn't get in the way. And I could be helpful."

He leaned over ignoring the pain from the freshly healed parts of his body and kissed her.

"I can't operate with you there, Tess. I'm always going to be looking out for you and…if anything happened to you…"

He pushed away the end of that sentence which was "as well".

"Stay here, Tess. Stay with Reuben and the others. Livingston's setting up excellent lines of communication. You'll know as much as we all do. I promise."

Tess's gaze dropped to the sheets. "You're going to find him, aren't you?"

"I am." And Danny was grateful he didn't have to specify which "him" he meant.

* * *

The flight down to Rio the next day seemed to take forever.

Out of nowhere, Linus had produced streetmaps and tourist guides and currently had them spread out around all of their laps. Danny found himself thinking _Do you reckon he writes for Lonely Planet?_ and missing amused blue eyes and the continuation of the silent conversation.

Turk seemed to have decided that in the absence of Virgil, Linus would make a good sparring partner.

"What is this? We're not planning on taking in the sights!" He battled with the unfolded map.

"Very soon you are going to have twenty-four pieces of paper six inches by three," Saul warned from the row behind. "Pass it here."

Danny looked out of the window and wished the miles away. He'd spoken to Bobby who had offered up some local names both official and unofficial that would help.

"_Guy called Santos will be your best bet," he'd said. "Nothing moves in Rio without him hearing about it. And it'll help that his brother is the head of local law enforcement."_

"_Thanks."_

"_Linus tagging along?"_

"_Yeah." And Danny heard the careless solicitude. "I'll keep him close, Bobby."_

"_I know. Just don't let him mess up."_

_Danny smiled._

"_Oh, and can you tell Livingston I want to have a word with him about that tracer."_

"_Is he in trouble?"_

"_He will be if he doesn't show me how he did it. I'm pulling the taps off the hotel by the way."_

"_Makes sense." And it did. Rusty wouldn't use that route now. _

"_Good luck, Danny."  
_

"_Have the whisky waiting."_

* * *

It was early evening by the time they hit Rio. A smiling, middle-aged man who identified himself as Santos met them at the airport and took them to an apartment in the South.

"You can set up base here," Santos said, dropping the keys on the table. "There's a grocery store on the corner and a bar opposite. I took the liberty of stocking up on essentials."

"Milk?" Linus asked, opening the fridge.

"Whisky," Santos grinned and Linus flushed.

"Nice," Turk said, shaking his head.

Saul took up residence on the couch and rested his feet.

"I've put out enquiries about your friend," Santos went on. "I did so as soon as Bobby called me. No one's come back so far but it's early days and a big city. I'll swing by tomorrow morning and we can be methodical about it all."

"Thank you," Danny said sincerely and shook his hand.

The door shut behind Santos and Turk headed for the whisky on the side.

"We ought to divide the city up into manageable chunks," Linus said, unfolding the map again.

"Who died and made you Rusty?" Turk scoffed, pouring the drinks and then froze. "Danny…oh, Danny…I'm so, so-"

"It's OK, Turk," Danny waved a hand. He looked over at Saul and asked with meaning. "You alright?"

Saul sighed. "My feet hurt. I've sat on a plane for over twelve hours and my back aches. Added to which, my ulcers are not co-operating. But if, as I suspect, you're about to ask me whether we start looking for him right now then the answer is yes. Obviously."

"Thanks, Saul." Danny turned to the other two. "I say we go and find somewhere to eat and then we start asking."

"Here?" Linus asked. "I mean, in this part of Rio?"

"We got to start somewhere, Linus," Danny said. "Why not here?"

* * *

Back in LA, Livingston had Virgil as an eager helper.

"Thank you, thank you," he said taking the machinery off the Malloy brother. "It doesn't need to be touched."

Yen looked up from the chair he was sitting cross-legged in, his hands wrapped in a complicated cat's cradle and fired off a question.

"Yes, of course I can," Livingston said irritably. "It's a simple matter of physics and geography." He looked down at the electronic equipment and crossed his fingers. "And luck."

* * *

They'd eaten at the bar opposite and they'd started asking and a little money and a little charm had greased the way so that suddenly English could be understood and spoken. There was no sign of a blond Americano with blue eyes but there was news of a card game where someone might know something.

"Turk and Saul, you head back and check in with Livingston," Danny suggested. He looked over at Linus. "You up for a late night poker session, kid?"

"Sure, Danny."

* * *

They got back to the apartment in the early morning. They'd smiled and chatted pleasantly and lost a little money and laughed in the right places. No one had seen the Americano but it was possible that their friends had and Linus and Danny had returned with a few more contacts than they'd had a few hours ago.

Danny hit the pillow and listened to Saul's gentle snoring from the bed beside him and wished he could just stand in the street and call for Rusty and have him answer.

* * *

True to his word, Santos arrived early the next day and brought Miguel, his brother, the policeman, with him.

"We've both been listening to the word out there," Miguel said. "We each have different sorts of people we know and usually between us…"

He tailed off and looked apologetically at them. "We have nothing definite. There has been a lot of upheaval in the Zona Norte of late and that would be where I would start to search. It's the easiest place to bury yourself if you are able to hide."

Miguel looked over at Santos who looked over at Danny.

"Bobby said he could hide, right?"

"Yes," Danny confirmed with a sigh. "He's very good at it."

"And this other man," Miguel went on, "this man he is pursuing…"

"He's called Vincente," Danny said. "He's extremely dangerous."

Miguel nodded. "I've put out enquiries on him too. I figure where we find one…"

Danny's mouth tightened. Yeah. That was about right.

"OK," Santos said, suddenly business-like. "We split up and cover more ground. Any of you speak Portuguese?"

There was a deafening silence.

"That's what I figured."

He went to the door and whistled. A young boy in his early teens appeared grinning.

"My son, Patrick."

"Patrick?" Linus's eyebrows were sky-high.

"My wife saw "Dirty Dancing" like a hundred times. And I like a quiet life," Santos shrugged. He turned to the boy. "Rico? I want you to go with these gentlemen," he indicated Danny and Linus, "and translate for them."

Rico shot off a rapid-fire question in Portuguese and Santos smiled.

"Of course, there's money in it for you. What do you take your father for?" He cuffed Rico's head playfully.

"I'm going to head to the station and see what my informants have come up with," Miguel explained.

"I'll head out with you," Santos said to Turk and Saul.

"We'll meet back here tonight," Danny said. "Unless we find him first."

* * *

The Zona Norte was away from the tourist areas. It was residential and Danny felt eyes gliding over the suits and their foreignness and knew that Rusty would never have this problem of not fitting in. It was a gift. Rusty could blend in anywhere. And that was what they were facing.

Rico proved a chatterbox whose passion was soccer. His hero was Pelé and Danny vaguely remembered sitting with whisky and Rusty and a bag of cashew nuts between them, watching "Escape to Victory" in a London hotel room with Basher trying earnestly but unsuccessfully to explain the offside rule. Not that it really came into the movie.

Linus had apparently played soccer at high school.

"I was in goal," he said to Rico who looked suitably impressed. "I was pretty handy."

Danny could see the look on Rusty's face and fought hard to keep his own straight.

"Papa said to take you to the market first. There's a man called Rui. Men go to him for guns."

It was said casually and Danny saw the nervous double-take from Linus because guns were not what they were about. Ever. But that didn't mean that he and Rusty didn't know how to handle one. It didn't mean that they didn't know what it felt like to have a gun barrel pressed to their temples. It was the world they lived and operated in. And OK, so it'd been a while – Vincente aside - since things had been that bad for him and he believed he would know if – Vincente aside – things had been that bad for Rusty recently. But the fact remained that violence was part of it all along with the poker chips and the whisky and the banter. And part of him wanted to sock Linus for his naiveté and part of him wanted to hug him for his innocence.

* * *

Santos, Turk and Saul were trawling through the bars, meeting and greeting faces that Santos immediately claimed as lifelong friends. From what Saul could tell, Santos knew everyone and remembered their names, the names of their family and any little anecdotes that needed follow-up from the last time he'd come across them. He was excellent at gathering information and Saul rejoiced in the fact that Bobby had put them in touch.

In the fourth bar, Turk grabbed his arm and said, "We're going to find him right?"

"We are," Saul said with confidence.

* * *

Rui was indulgent with Rico and his English was such that he suggested Rico go play football with his own children.

Danny watched the improvised game start up in the back yard of the shop and then turned his attention to Rui.

"I would be really grateful if you could help us. We're trying to find a friend of ours who is not being very sensible."

Rui looked at Danny keenly.

"Is he planning on killing someone?"

"Yes," Danny nodded. "And the someone isn't the sort to just let that happen."

Rui dug up a ledger and leafed through it.

"I made a couple of sales to out-of-towners over recent weeks."

"Do you remember them?" Linus asked eagerly and Rui smiled.

"I remember every one I sell to unless they give me money to forget. Let's see…"

He tapped the book.

"This one was to a well-spoken young man who was fluent in Portuguese although not a native. Dressed quite smartly in a suit. Held himself like…like a dancer. Perfect balance. No wasted movements. Speech was concise too. He was impressive."

Linus caught Danny's eye and beamed. Danny wasn't smiling yet.

"Thing is, a few days later I might have met his twin. Not in looks. The first had no hair and this one had straw blond. And a beard." Rui shuddered. "It did not suit him. But full of the same grace. Full of the same control. And he spoke the language effortlessly."

The smile was slipping off Linus's face and Danny felt his mouth set in a straight line. Vincente. And Rusty. Within touching distance of each other and both with guns.

Outside the football and the sunshine continued.

* * *

It was after lunch and Saul's face ached from smiling so hard at strangers who would listen to Santos and nod sympathetically and think and shake their heads.

Santos knew people to ask. He just didn't seem to know the right people to ask.

* * *

Danny and Linus had walked with Rico to see a fence called Elvis Presley who looked nothing like. Without even looking, Danny could feel the question burning through Linus and just hoped Linus could keep it inside him.

"Y'OK, Rico?" Elvis asked. "Still scoring goals?"

Rico's smile was wide and white. "Gonna play in the Maracanã someday, you know?"

"Oh, I know, Rico. I'm running a book on when you play your first game."

He turned to Danny and Linus and business began.

"You selling?"

Danny shook his head.

"Then you're buying."

"Oh, we just want some information, sir…Elvis…sir…" Linus explained hurriedly and Elvis and Danny looked at each other with a raised eyebrow and an apologetic smile respectively.

Elvis grinned. "Then you're buying."

Danny reached for his wallet.

* * *

"It's interesting you should ask about a new Americano in town," the old newsvendor said and Santos smiled encouragingly. "I seen a sharp suited man who walks with no fear. He comes by here most mornings and by here most evenings. He looks at everything and everyone and no one sees what he sees."

Santos translated to Saul and Turk. "He figures he's either living in the underbelly of the city or he has business there."

"Maybe we can wait," Saul said and hope fired him.

* * *

Elvis had something to sell. He had had no direct dealings with either Vincente or Rusty but one of his regulars had arrived at a meet with a broken hand and a story of a pocket that had been badly chosen as a target.

"He operates in a quarter with a reputation for violence and I thought no more of it. But it was done by an Americano."

Vincente. Possibly.

"He had a tattoo on his hand. Two words in flowy script."

Vincente. Definitely.

"Elvis, thank you very much," Danny said and he and Linus and Rico left the building.

* * *

Saul and Turk and Santos were sipping beers in the bar opposite where the newsstand was. Saul was wishing for something less gassy but he was willing to suffer if it meant that they were going to catch up with Rusty.

He understood why Rusty was here. Understanding didn't make it any better or any easier. And he'd not been as frightened as this since he'd lost Annie.

They waited. And waiting was all there was.

* * *

The two search parties made it back to the apartment within minutes of each other. They found Miguel had let himself in and was cooking a chicken stew.

"My wife's gone to her mother's," he said as if that explained everything.

They all sat round the table, eating the stew and sharing their day.

"We thought we had a good lead on either one or the other of them," Saul said disconsolately. "Neither of them showed."

"Still worth waiting there again tomorrow," Turk said hopefully and Santos nodded.

"We know they've both got guns," Danny said baldly and saw Saul pale.

"And Vincente's been seen at work," Linus contributed.

"But in fact, we know little more than we did last night," Danny concluded grimly.

"Well, I have news," Miguel said and all eyes turned to him. "Got a line on Vincente. Arrived here a few weeks back. He's here to set up a semi-permanent base but it keeps moving. He knows he's being pursued and he's armed himself. Reckon he's worried more about the Mob than your friend, if he even gets that your friend is after him. Spending his time trying to find out who's chasing him."

"What about Rusty?" Danny asked.

"Well…there we don't have quite so much news. He's here…still here, I mean. He's been asking after Vincente. They reckon he's holed up in the dirtier side of town."

Santos looked round at the tight and drawn faces.

"We start again tomorrow," he promised.

* * *

Santos, Miguel and Rico had left. Danny was on the phone to Tess and Linus was studying the maps. Again.

Turk had poured himself a whisky and made Saul a cup of chocolate.

"We will find him," he whispered, "won't we?"

"We have to," Saul whispered back.


	27. Search2

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: still just paddling.

A/N: and this is the other half of the stupid length chapter. It runs on immediately from the last.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Search2

* * *

Tess couldn't sleep. She and Danny had a room opposite the main suite at the Standard where Reuben resided and Livingston worked and most of the others slumped and took it in turns to watch and wait.

Danny had called her from Rio and she had tried to sound everything she wasn't feeling. He'd told her that they had had some information and leads but nothing too definite. She'd thought he'd sounded tired and she hoped he was finding time to rest. He'd told her he loved her and she'd smiled at the thought that no one was listening and then wondered if it was only when Rusty was listening that he had trouble saying it.

Now she was lying in a bed that felt empty, staring at a ceiling and wondering whether she should have insisted on going with him. She'd never been this close to the action. She'd never seen this side of things. And she'd never been exposed to the direct worry that seeing this side of things engendered. It was worse than imagining because all it did was fuel your imagination.

Right now, she was picturing Danny going after Rusty and either or both of them being hurt beyond help or reason. She knew that she needed to worry about Rusty as much as she did Danny. She'd known it back at the hospital when she'd found out where Rusty had gone. Because if anything happened to Rusty, she had no doubt that it would destroy Danny. And her biggest fear was that she would not be enough to build him up again.

* * *

In Rio, Danny was also awake. Frustration filled him. It was the second night in the city and still no real breakthrough. He knew it took time but he also knew that time was a factor they did not have in great supply. Rusty was that good. And so was Vincente. When he closed his eyes, Danny saw the warehouse with the chains and the pain. Vincente would not need to be so protracted or so restrained. And since he was pragmatic in the extreme, he wouldn't be.

Every time he played it through in his head, Vincente won. Every time he played it through in his head, he wanted to go out on the streets and look for Rusty.

Sighing, he got out of bed and dressed and padded through to the living area. With his mind elsewhere, he saw the glint of the light on the blond and the figure hunched over the table with the papers everywhere and he blinked. And then a second later, he realised it was Linus and his heart started beating again.

"Can't you sleep?" he asked.

"Thought I'd have another look at the-"

"Come on over the bar with me," Danny interrupted, "and let me buy you a drink."

* * *

The barman nodded when he saw them come in and set up the whiskies. There were some people from last night and from last night's poker game and they nodded at them too. Danny guessed that they'd lost enough money gracefully enough to win the passing friendship.

They were invited over to join a couple of the erstwhile card-players and Danny prepared himself to buy a few rounds and pass the time of day.

"You find your friend? The Americano?" asked one with a moustache that seemed unlikely and Linus shook his head.

"We're still looking," Danny said.

"Luck and health," said another with a smile that had far too many teeth.

After a while, Danny excused himself and visited the facilities. When he came back, Linus was sandwiched in between the Moustache and the Smile and had an air of quiet desperation.

As Danny sat down opposite, Linus leaned across the table and hissed at him, "They keep saying things and looking at me!"

Oh, Danny wanted so much for someone to share the moment with. He took pity on him and leaned across so that only Linus could hear.

"It's the hair, Linus. Fair hair and blue eyes are unusual in Latin countries."

They sat back and Linus looked slightly but not greatly relieved. Danny was busy remembering the first time he and Rusty had hit Italy. Even Rusty who had grown used long ago to ignoring appraising looks and admiring glances, even Rusty had noticed and realised and given a resounding "Huh".

"We still asking about your friend," the Moustache assured them and Danny thanked them.

The Smile kept looking at Linus as if he wanted to rub a little bit of blond hair through his fingers.

"Drink up," Danny said and Linus did so gratefully.

They said their goodbyes and headed back to the apartment.

* * *

The next day, Santos and Rico arrived bright and early and they split once more into two groups. Turk, Saul and Santos headed back to the newsvendor to carry on surveillance. The other three headed for the more violent quarter of the city.

"You look after them, Rico," Santos had said when they'd told him where they were going. "Don't give your Uncle Miguel unnecessary paperwork."

Rico had rolled his eyes and led Danny and Linus into one veritable den of iniquity after another in search of information.

"How does he know where to go?" Linus hissed after their third such visit.

Danny shrugged. He had noticed that Rico walked with complete immunity through such places. Something told him that Santos had been bringing Rico with him on little trips like these for some time. Plus it couldn't hurt that your uncle could have people arrested.

* * *

The stakeout of the newsvendor had proved fruitless.

"I'm sorry," he said when they finally approached him. "The man has not been past for a few days now. I can only think that he has something to occupy him at present."

And whether the man in question was Vincente or Rusty, Saul did not like the thought of that one little bit.

"Come on," Santos said encouragingly. "Let's try the lodgings down here. Someone may have seen him."

* * *

In LA, Reuben was conducting an unofficial tour of the hotel. Casting an official eye over things, he had to say he was impressed by the ambition Rusty had displayed.

In spite of the taste Rusty displayed in shiny suits and shirts which others described as heinous but which Reuben never had that much of a problem with, refurbishment of a clean and crisp nature had taken place. Staff were well-trained and helpful and polite. The food was elegant and contemporary. The little details in the bedrooms like the complimentary fruit and chocolates were thoughtful and appreciated.

All in all, he had to give Rusty his due. He ran the place with a good feeling for staff morale and motivation and a good idea of what customers wanted.

Reuben bet it was costing him an arm and a leg.

* * *

Having taken their turn to monitor Livingston's "find Rusty" station, Frank had taken Basher out on a public tour of Beverley Hills, home to the stars.

"Amazing!" Basher declared as they passed by one particular fortress.

"Where the rich man likes to party and the poor man serves the drinks," Frank nodded. He waited.

"You think a simple coil fuse would blow those doors?"

"You're the expert, my man, you tell me."

Thereafter, the tour took an interesting turn.

* * *

Back in the main suite that Danny had charmed, along with the rest of the rooms, out of Kirsty, Livingston was busy with wires and dials and headphones.

"He knows what he's doing, right?" Virgil asked Yen with a sceptical note in his voice.

Yen snorted and muttered something derisory.

"I heard that," Livingston called over. "Anytime you think you can run a sweep and locate on another continent-"

He broke off as Yen's phone rang. Yen answered and listened as Livingston threw switches frantically. The call lasted for less than ten seconds. Livingston hit rewind and play and they heard Rusty say, "I'm fine" and hang up.

"Guess he don't need to say much more," Virgil said slowly.

Yen asked the question and Livingston shook his head.

"Didn't even get warmed up," he said sadly.

* * *

Feet aching, the two groups had returned with no firm news once more.

"Don't lose heart, my friends," Santos said. "Something will happen soon, I promise."

As he and Rico left, Saul sighed.

"I'm terribly afraid, Daniel, that Santos is right."

Danny's phone rang.

"Rusty called," Livingston said. "He just said he was fine and hung up. I didn't get a fix on him. I_ couldn't_ get a fix on him, Danny."

There was so much apology wrapped up in the last phrase that Danny winced.

"It's OK, Livingston, I know you'd have tried."

Turk had disappeared to the grocery store on the corner and arrived back with ingredients for chilli.

"You can cook?" Linus said with surprise.

"He can certainly cook chilli," Saul smiled with fond remembrance.

* * *

Dinner over, some time close to midnight, Danny and Linus sat on the couch with a bottle of whisky between them. Danny had wanted to go back to the bar opposite to check for leads but Linus had flat out refused. Turk and Saul had said they would go instead.

Linus looked anything but comfortable. Danny leaned back into the leather and waited.

"If anything-" Linus began eventually and then stopped. "What I mean is, should anything- that is, if anything…"

"Spit it out, Linus."

"What would we do?" Linus asked.

Danny considered the question.

"What you would do – what you would all do – is get on a plane and go home. And I may have to ask you to make sure Saul goes."

"What about you?" Linus whispered.

Danny smiled. Calmly. With absolute composure. Frightening as hell. Linus almost backed away from him.

"I would stay," he said quietly. "For as long as it took."

His phone rang.

"Danny!"

"Yeah, Livingston."

"You need to hear this."

Somewhere in a room in LA, Danny imagined switches being flicked and buttons being pressed and then he heard incoherent noise and chatter and tried to make sense of it.

Linus's phone rang and he answered and passed it over to Danny. It was Livingston giving commentary on one phone while Danny listened to the other.

"It's Rusty's phone. Somehow it's hit redial."

Danny could not help the grin that was spreading across his face.

"He doesn't know."

"He doesn't know," Livingston confirmed.

"You can-"

"I can." The note of happy competence in Livingston's voice was strong. "Well, as long as he stays in one place long enough. If he goes on the move, it's going to be more of a guesstimate."

"Where is he?" Danny was trying to make out the muffled noises.

"Some sort of bar or restaurant, I think."

There were more noises of chatter and then a quiet little oasis and Danny heard Rusty say, _"Mind if I join you?"_

"_Mr Ryan. As I live and breathe."_

It was fainter but it was unmistakable. And Danny's throat knotted with fear. Vincente sounded amused and not at all fazed and Danny listened to their exchanges with mounting anxiety.

"Livingston," he hissed into Linus's phone. "Get moving."

"I _am._" Livingston sounded wounded.

Danny heard Vincente say _"I was right, wasn't I?" _followed by _"When I said it would hurt you more" _and his fingers gripped the phone so tightly that part of him idly wondered if he would ever be able to unclamp his fingers. Because Vincente _was_ right…absolutely right…it hurt like fury.

"What's going on?" Linus whispered, not wanting to disturb but wanting to know.

"Rusty's confronting Vincente in a bar," Danny said tersely.

"But that's…that's…"

"Stupid? Yeah."

"In public?" Linus said, disbelievingly.

Danny shushed him, his attention fully back on Rusty because there was a note in Rusty's voice that Danny did not like and did not recognise. Slurry and loud. It sounded as if…

"_Are you feeling unwell?" _

Danny closed his eyes even as Rusty asked _"Wh-what did you do?"_ because Danny's mind had already started joining up the dots. By the time Rusty had come up with the name of what he'd been fed, Danny had already figured out he'd been drugged.

"Rohypnol," he shot out the side of his mouth at Linus.

"Rohyp…oh, that's not good. That's all memory loss and blackouts and no control…" Linus tailed off and bit his lip.

Danny heard Rusty forcing out the words _"Get off me"_ and he squeezed his eyes further shut because there had never, ever been anything wrong with his imagination and right now he could picture it all, all too painfully. Vincente helping him up, Rusty having to let him...

"They're on the move," he said urgently to Livingston.

"I know, I know," came the answer and Danny stopped himself from yelling at Livingston because he knew he would be working as frantically as Danny would have wished to come up with a location.

Opening his eyes, he turned to Linus and gave him such a fierce look that Linus took a step back.

"Go and find the others," Danny instructed. "We need to be ready to go."

Linus practically fell out of the door.

* * *

By the time he'd found Saul and Turk and used Turk's phone to contact Santos and explained and explained again and all of them had arrived at the apartment, Danny was yelling at Livingston.

"For fuck's sake! What's so difficult?"

Saul immediately laid a hand on his arm and Danny turned eyes that were full of misery and fury on him.

"He's got Rusty…" Danny had to take a breath to steady himself and then went on. "He's got Rusty and he's taking him somewhere and Livingston can't tell me where!"

The last was shouted down the phone.

"Daniel…" Saul said warningly and Danny made himself come back from the edge.

"Sorry. Sorry, Livingston," he muttered.

Linus was busy unfolding the maps. "Do we have any clues?"

Danny listened to Rusty being guided who knew where and tried to ignore the little breathy noises and the occasional moan.

"They were in a bar. They've come out. They've met people. They've taken a short cut to _somewhere_…" The agony of not knowing was raw. "They got jumped but Vincente dealt with whoever. And now…"

Saul and Turk's phones rang.

"I'm plugging you guys in, too," Livingston said as they listened and Linus and Santos hovered. "I can't get a clear fix. He's still just in Rio."

"It's a big city," Turk pointed out.

"Not helpful," Danny snapped.

He turned his attention back to Rusty. There was a new noise in the background.

"What is that, Livingston? Static?"

"No…it's definitely their end…"

"It's the ocean," Saul said suddenly and Linus and Santos pored over the maps.

Danny felt the foreboding reach out and grip him. He heard _"Mr Ryan? Rusty? You still with me?"_ and he tasted blood. He hadn't even realised that he'd been biting his lip.

"_This is a very exclusive area of beach, Mr Ryan…these villas up here are owned by the rich. I should know. I'm borrowing one at the moment."_

Vincente's voice was much clearer and Danny puzzled over that and then came, _"Even though this is an exclusive area, still you find the odd tourist who comes here to swim"_ and Danny found his legs would no longer hold him. He sank into a nearby chair.

"He's going to drown him," he said tonelessly. "He's going to take his clothes off and leave him in the water to die."

And he had to listen to it and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. In his mind's eye, he could see Rusty, naked and helpless, in the water and unable to move, waves closing over his head, being able to see safety but not being able to reach it. The state Rusty was in, it didn't need to be deep water. And Vincente would watch. Undoubtedly. Just to make sure.

"Please, Livingston." It wasn't angry, it wasn't loud, it was quiet and desperate and it offered up the world if only the plea would be answered.

"I can't, Danny," and Livingston, he knew, was crying. "There's too much interference…"

"Can't we just go and find a beach?" Turk asked urgently.

Santos shook his head. "There are miles of beach."

Saul squeezed Danny's shoulder though he barely felt it. Millions, they had between them. Millions. And it didn't matter a damn.

Then the words came crystal clear:

"_You know, if I were into trophies, this would be particularly apt, don't you think? Mr Ocean has had some really interesting messages, you know? Guess not everyone knows he's deceased."_

"Phones…he's still got my phone…Livingston!" Danny's voice was back in control. "Can you use my phone to-"

"It'll help!"

"_Anyway. I think…Mr Thomas O'Leary from Illinois sadly had too much confidence in his ability to hold his drink and swim." _

"Hurry!"

"_Long, slow and final, Mr Ryan. Remember?"_

"Livingston!"

"_Tide comes in quickly here...but don't worry, I'll keep you company however long it takes."_

"Danny, I can't get a lock," Livingston sounded as frantic as Danny felt. "There's only two signals. I need a third to tie it down precisely. All I've got is an area-"

Danny thrust the phone at Saul. He didn't want to listen to the technical. He didn't want to hear Livingston say he couldn't. All he knew was that Rusty was this close to drowning and even though he was in the same city, he could as easily have been the other side of the world. He was going to lose him. He was going to-

An idea leapt into Danny's head. Just as he never tried to work out the way Rusty's brain operated when it came to detail and recall, so he never bothered trying to pin down exactly where his own plans came from. They just arrived fully formed in outline. And right now, he was willing to try anything.

With a shaking hand, he grabbed Linus's phone back off Saul, closed the call and started punching numbers.

* * *

Hands pulled him up out of the water. He heard a heartfelt "Damn!" and he was swung up over a strong shoulder. And then he blacked out.

* * *

A few hours later, Rusty came to with a groan, half-opened his eyes and promptly heaved. A bowl was placed with immaculate timing under his mouth and a hand rubbed his back.

"Thanks," he muttered.

He tried to remember what had happened but everything was blurry and that was frightening. Truly chill-to-the-bone kind of frightening. His powers of recall were always razor-sharp. Memories and names and faces and places were always there, just waiting. And sometimes that could be a bad thing but most of the time it was useful and the point was that all of the time it just _was._ And now, suddenly, it wasn't.

He remembered speaking to Danny but that had been days ago, surely. There were cats and a watermelon...and a bar…the bar…he couldn't get any further with any degree of coherence. Faces and lights and noise fused together though there was sand and water at some point, he was sure.

His head ached like the worst hangover in the world. It felt incredibly heavy and muddled. He forced his eyes further open and took in the couch he was lying propped up on and the blanket over him. There was an all-pervading smell of salt and his skin felt crusty.

He brought his hand up to rub the corner of his mouth and stopped short and blinked. His hands were tied. And then he realised he was naked. Naked and bound and with no memory. That could not be a good combination.

"You planning on throwing up again?" Vincente asked. "Or am I safe to go and empty this?"

_

* * *

_

Vincente keeps his foot in place even though he isn't sure it's strictly necessary. Ryan is now completely under the waves when they break and it will not be long before the end.

_The phone he'd taken from Ocean beeps in his pocket and he digs it out, ready to pass a moment or two reading another message. _

"_Vincente," it says, "if you kill him, it will be another death to answer for. Friends of Marcello."_

_He stares at the text. And then he pulls his foot from the water and spins round on the beach. Who knows where he is and what he is doing and more importantly, who knows he has this phone? One man who is dead and one man who is dying. _

_Vincente needs to know how close the pursuit is. He looks down at the water and sighs. Then he reaches down and pulls Ryan up and out of it._

_Ryan hangs there for a moment and Vincente swears mildly but with feeling. Then he swings him up over his shoulder, gathers up Ryan's clothes and heads for the villa. He and Mr Ryan have some things to discuss._

* * *

Sitting on the couch, Rusty stared stupidly at him and Vincente sighed.

"Oh, this is going to take some time."

* * *

A/N: er...still more naked!Rusty, I guess...


	28. Missing

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: no one you recognise belongs to me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Missing

* * *

Livingston sat on top of the toilet seat and wiped his eyes and hugged his knees and stared at the door. Outside, there was noise and voices. Inside Livingston there was immense distress.

Eventually, there came a hesitant knock and when he didn't answer there was a "Bloody hell!".

Basher. Livingston sighed but didn't move. Then the door broke open and Basher stood there with Yen.

"Livingston…? Mate…?"

"Just leave me for a bit, will you, guys?"

Basher showed no signs of going away and Yen walked further into the room and stood in front of Livingston and gestured with a couple of sharp questions. Livingston shrugged in response.

"No one's blaming you, mate," Basher said softly.

"I am, Basher," Livingston replied. "And Danny will be."

"Aw, fuckin' 'ell, no!" Basher wasn't having any of it. "Danny knows you did your best. Everyone knows you did."

"My best just wasn't good enough."

Basher had been there. They all had. Virgil and Yen and Reuben had been with him when Yen's phone had rung and they had heard background noise and realised. And while Livingston's fingers had flown over the machinery to record and to track down the signal, Frank and Basher had been summoned and Reuben had thought to invite Tess to join them.

He'd listened to the phone conversation with a simultaneous professional and personal ear. He'd had to focus and try and try to pin down the elusive signal that slipped and slid and wouldn't stay still. He'd had to ignore the circle of faces watching him and silently begging. He'd had to listen to Rusty being taken away to his death and not – _not_ - give in to how scared he was for his friend. And he'd had to handle Danny. Helpless Danny listening to helpless Rusty. Livingston would have moved mountains to save Rusty: and he knew that didn't even come close to what Danny would do.

And the long and the short of it was he'd failed. Miserably. Even with the second phone all he'd been able to do was narrow the area down to the South of Rio. Ipanema. Copacabana. And all the beaches around and between. Laughable.

The only good thing was that Danny's text message seemed to have done the trick. They couldn't be completely sure but it sounded like Vincente had changed his mind and pulled Rusty out of the water. That had been over an hour ago. He'd listened for twenty minutes or so and then all the emotion of the evening washed over him and he'd left Virgil listening with instructions to call him if anything happened and he'd come and shaking, locked himself in the bathroom. He supposed that when he hadn't come out, they'd eventually realised he was missing.

Blinking, he looked up at Basher and Yen and saw Basher sigh.

"Don't be a stupid tosser, Livingston." And Basher was ever so slightly furious. "Look, you and I do all the technical stuff, don't we?"

"I guess…"

"Guess my arse!" Basher stood, hands on hips. "Technology is technology is technology. And sometimes it shits all over you. Believe me, I know. You can only do what you can do. Danny don't blame you. Nor does anyone."

Yen let loose with a tirade and Livingston rolled his eyes at him. Sometimes Yen could be funny and angry and comforting and _right_, darn it.

"What he said," Basher nodded.

"You don't know what he said," Livingston pointed out. "But thanks."

He looked over at Yen. "Thanks."

Yen gave a shrug of acknowledgement.

"C'mon, mate," Basher said. "Come and find him."

Livingston stood up and drew a deep breath. "OK…"

* * *

At that point in Rio, they were poring over Linus's maps.

"There are hundreds of private villas along the beaches," Santos said apologetically. "We can't just go charging into each and every one of them."

Danny looked as if that was exactly what he wanted to do.

"We need to narrow it down," Linus said needlessly.

"Livingston?"

"I'm back, Danny."

"What can we do to find him?" And part of Danny was seriously impressed that the part of him that was screaming at full voice wasn't doing so out loud.

He heard Livingston take a deep breath.

"I can run what I've recorded through the filters and see what comes up in the background. And Rusty's phone and yours are still switched on. I mean I don't know what life there is in the batteries but if you get near to them, I can use one of your phones to triangulate the signal and-"

"OK, Livingston," Danny said hurriedly. He really, really didn't need the detail.

"Danny…?" There was a pause. Then Livingston said hesitantly, "I'm sorry I couldn't find him."

Danny smiled briefly. "Livingston, if anyone could have done, you could. And _I'm _sorry for shouting at you. I doubt it was easy having me at the end of the phone."

"OK…" Livingston sounded reassured. "I'll let you know how what I find."

Ending the call, Danny looked at a white-faced Saul and saw the despair in the older man's eyes; despair which matched his own. Somewhere, there was Vincente. Somewhere, there was Rusty. And neither Saul nor he wanted to think about what the one was doing to the other.

* * *

Hours passed. He'd lost consciousness again and he'd woken again and he'd still been bound and Vincente had still been there, watching him. These things were constants. So was the headache; so was the amnesia. At least he'd stopped throwing up.

He guessed he'd been slipped something. GHB or a roofie or some sort of Mickey powerful enough to wreck him and take his memory away. It was the strangest, most disconcerting feeling. Like someone had reached into his mind and run a wet sponge over everything. Like how he'd come to confront Vincente. Rusty really couldn't remember that conversation at all. And he hated that unnatural gap in his knowledge. He couldn't even think of the last time he'd struggled to recollect something crucial.

In spite of everything, little bits kept coming back to him. Most of all, he remembered the water. Lying in the water and knowing death was waiting for him there, death was waiting, almost tangible, to take him away.

There came a point when he awoke and felt mostly in control of himself and his faculties and he faked another lapse. Lying there on the couch, his eyes closed, he waited and he listened. Vincente's breathing matched his own, slow and precise. Rusty's brain was engaged in figuring out why Vincente had changed his mind. It was hardly going to be philanthropy. But why go to the trouble of drugging and drowning him if he wasn't going to follow through? What could have happened to change it?

After a while, he thought it prudent to groan and come to. Vincente was crouching down as his eyes opened, studying his face as he blinked vacantly at him. Rusty kept his expression dull-witted and let a little of the pain of the headache appear on his face.

Vincente straightened up.

"Alright, Mr Ryan. I really, really don't have time for fun and games."

Rusty didn't react above a slurred "Wh-what?"

Vincente delivered a hard slap across his face in one direction followed by an equally hard one in the opposite direction.

"Enough," he said. "I've been watching you every time you've woken up and you just lost the natural. I know you're faking."

Face smarting, Rusty sighed and sat up. Vincente pulled the blanket from him.

"Nothing about protecting your modesty," he explained. "Everything about speeding up recovery. And to be honest, having you unclothed is a short cut for me."

Unsuccessfully, Rusty tried to ignore the meaning in the last few words: he never seemed to have a problem understanding Vincente.

The smell of stale urine rose in the air. He looked down at himself and his nose wrinkled. Then he licked his dry lips and face defiantly neutral, looked over at Vincente, resting up against the breakfast bar wall, foot sitting casually on the bottom of the wide, steep steps that led up to a kitchen.

"That's right, Mr Ryan," Vincente sounded almost approving. "It's only nudity. Nothing to worry a man like you. And it's only a little bodily fluid. Of course, that couch is going to need reupholstering. I guess the owners might have had something to say about that."

Rusty heard the implication and his mouth set in a hard line. Vincente saw it and smiled.

"They were artists. Of a sort," he qualified. He gestured behind Rusty. "Look around."

Unwillingly, Rusty turned his head and his eyes focused on a leg emerging out of the wall at an unlikely angle. And a pair of arms reaching towards him. And then his brain which was still recovering made sense of it all. Body casts. Abstract paintings were also dotted around the place and he realised that the lumps of twisted metal on display were in fact pieces of sculpture.

"Not my taste," Vincente said conversationally. "I like my art to look like something I couldn't do myself."

Rusty wasn't listening because he'd finally seen them. Two bodies. Impossible to tell whether they were male or female. Piled up neatly at the bottom of the room underneath the plasma on the wall and wrapped and tied in plastic sheeting.

"In a way, I suppose their deaths are down to you, Mr Ryan," Vincente said musingly but without any malice. "I'd buried myself in the nastier part of the city waiting for the man with my money to get in touch. But after you followed me that night, I thought it prudent to move further away."

His fault. Right. Rusty looked again at the bodies and swallowed then turned back to Vincente.

"What do you want?" he asked harshly.

"Well, now, you have to understand," Vincente went on, "that this little conversation is one I did not expect to be having. And the fact that I filled you full of a drug that's known for its effects on the memory does not help. Plus, I ruined my damn suit carrying you up here from the water. So do know that all in all, I am really not in a good mood and that I would like quick answers."

"What do you want?" Rusty repeated.

"I want to know who knows and where they are and how close they are and whether I have to leave."

The back of Rusty's neck prickled. He was having a whole "Is it safe?" moment and didn't want to mention it because he had a nasty feeling that it was one of Vincente's favourite movies.

"What are you talking about?"

"Who are you working with, Mr Ryan? Whom do I need to be worrying about?"

Vincente's eyes were burning into Rusty's and Rusty was sure he must be reading genuine bewilderment because that was what he was feeling. Vincente frowned.

"Look."

He held out the phone – Danny's phone, Rusty thought with a sudden jolt – and showed Rusty the text message. Rusty read it and gave the slightest of frowns followed almost immediately by bewilderment again. This time of a semi-genuine nature. Because the pool of people who knew Vincente had Danny's phone was limited to two and he'd been otherwise engaged. So, Danny…and Rusty's heart simultaneously leapt and fell with joy and fear. How had Danny known? Because if he was near by, if he was in touching distance of Vincente and him, if Danny even came close to here…

Vincente was talking again.

"Oh, how I wish I had you for longer, Mr Ryan. How I would like the time to spare to break you properly. To rip away the confidence that's embedded so deeply. To tear your marvellous control to shreds. What an elegant challenge you would present. And so many ways to try…sensory deprivation… starvation… dehydration…and other ways… But sadly, time is pressing and I must confine my actions to the physical. Not nearly as elegant." Vincente sounded genuinely disappointed. "And of necessity, I have to cut out the gradual and leap straight to the extreme."

Rusty thought back to the warehouse and what Vincente had done to him and the adrenaline started flowing faster.

"Haven't we been here before?"

Vincente grinned.

"Well, that was when I was planning on leaving no marks and when it mattered what shape you were in at the end of it all. This time I need not be so restrained."

_Restrained…_ Rusty could taste the pain before it happened. The anticipation was killing.

Vincente was looking thoughtful and moved up into the kitchen area. "Did you ever think about how terrifying ordinary household objects can be in the wrong hands?"

"Like a…" Rusty stopped. He didn't want to give Vincente any ideas.

"Like a deep fat fryer. Like a nail file. Like a light bulb. Like a cheese grater and a tub of salt, if it comes to that."

Vincente was busy rooting through cupboards and drawers.

"I mean, it's not like people have a convenient Iron Maiden lying around or a rack or anything."

"You really were born in the wrong century, weren't you?" Rusty said and he heard Vincente chuckle.

Vincente dropped down to the cupboard under the sink and Rusty couldn't see him now, only hear his voice as it floated up.

"The thing is, the movies and Shakespeare have it about right. Do you know "King Lear"?"

"Saw "Hamlet" on Broadway. Does that count?"

"Gloucester's blinding," Vincente elaborated. "Do you know how much pressure to apply to put out a man's eyes, Mr Ryan? I do. Do you know about sawing an ear off? Or drilling in to a healthy tooth?"

_Marathon Man_. He knew it.

"What the hell did you read as a kid?"

"Brothers Grimm. Very enlightening. Ah!"

It was a noise of satisfaction and Rusty's heart sank.

"OK, Mr Ryan, let's find out what you know."

Vincente reappeared, smiling and Rusty really didn't trust that smile. His gaze moved to the items in Vincente's hand. A plastic funnel and a large water jug. Slowly, he met Vincente's eyes and set his jaw. Vincente wasn't going to insult him by explaining and Rusty wasn't going to bother saying anything out loud either.

It was obvious. And it was happening.


	29. Water

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty isn't mine. And if the library finds out what I'm doing to him, I'm going to lose my borrowing privileges.

A/N: This chapter features Vincente at work and does not make for pleasant reading. Remember the warehouse? Yeah. Strong warnings for violence. And just like the warehouse, I didn't make this stuff up either.

Thanks in this as in everything to otherhawk for reading and reassurance. So grateful it is untrue.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Water

* * *

"Let's have you on your feet, Mr Ryan." Vincente's tone was completely business-like and Rusty reminded himself that this was what he did for a living.

"You seriously think I'm going to co-operate?" he asked.

Vincente gave a shrug. "Both doors are locked and all windows are toughened glass. You're not getting away."

Rusty smiled mirthlessly. "Well, I'm not going to make it easy for you either."

"No. I suppose you're not," Vincente agreed.

The morning light was bright through the kitchen window behind Vincente as he moved round to stand in front of Rusty: Rusty tensed his muscles that he hadn't used for ages and which he couldn't be sure he had control over and willed his body to work. And then he put his head down and launched himself at Vincente, connecting with Vincente's midriff and hearing the satisfying "whoof" of surprise as Vincente fell backwards.

He scrambled to the back door and pulled at the handle. Locked. Vincente hadn't been bluffing. And then Vincente was there, arm wrapped around his neck, dragging him back into the villa, and Rusty struggled and aimed blind kicks backwards but the arm around his neck tightened and as he'd known all along, there really was no escape.

"This pressure point here, Mr Ryan, will put you out for about ten minutes. Let me demonstrate."

And there were fingers on his throat and there was blackness.

* * *

Ryan had dropped, dead weight. He'd caught him before he'd hit the floor and swung him up on to the breakfast bar. Less than hygienic but he doubted he'd be hearing from the late owners.

Leaving the unconscious man, he walked through to the bedroom that had doubled as an art store and found more rope. He must remember to look out for artists' residences in the future. They were full of helpful equipment.

He was about to head for the bathroom to pick up a towel when something caught his eye and he nodded to himself. This would work. So much better.

Returning to the kitchen area, he readied his equipment. Jug…funnel… There was always the chance that Ryan might need a little more persuasion… He reached in the drawer, found what he wanted and prepared it.

He started with the rope down at Ryan's feet and mused briefly on how he'd have gotten on in the Boy Scouts. Knots, no problem. And he was always prepared. Couldn't say he would ever have been sold on the uniform, though.

* * *

Rusty came round and felt the cold marble surface underneath his bare skin and the taut ropes that were lashing him to it, digging into his ankles and legs and upper body and arms and shoulders. No slack and no weaknesses. The ropes were tied professionally and they weren't moving.

He blinked upwards at Vincente, standing to the right of him.

"Head up," Vincente instructed and when he didn't comply, pulled his head up anyway and started wrapping bandages around his face.

Rusty tried to pull away but it was pointless. Vincente continued without breaking his momentum.

"You know, Mr Ryan, I would say you possibly have the highest pain threshold of anyone I've worked on. With the exception of a guy in Atlanta who just didn't have the pain receptors in his brain switched on. Something I worked out all a little too late for both of us. You're definitely the most stubborn subject I've had. If Mr Ocean were still with us, of course, things would be so much easier."

_Danny._ Rusty's mind briefly imagined the pair of them simultaneously in Vincente's hands and he repressed a shudder. The basement in New York would have been nothing compared to what Vincente would have put them through.

The bandages were looping round his head and Vincente paused briefly.

"I'll say goodbye, Mr Ryan."

Staring up at Vincente's grey eyes, Rusty read the single-mindedness and the purpose and bit his lip. Then the material wrapped around him and the light went dim: another few moments and another layer and the light went out.

"You take care now," Rusty muttered as Vincente knotted the ends at the back of his head.

He lay still, the bandages tight over his face. He could see nothing although Vincente had wrapped his head in such a way that left his ears and mouth free. He could hear everything. His nose was smothered and he was forcing himself to control his breathing through his mouth. Not too fast, he told himself. Keep calm. And then there was the sound of a tap running fast in the sink behind his head and the calm turned to the taste of ashy fear.

"I need to know who knows I'm in Rio," Vincente said simply. "And I will offer you a limited window of opportunity to share that information with me. After that…I'm going to have to leave. And I shan't be taking you with me. Do you understand?"

Rusty said nothing.

"Do you understand, Mr Ryan?"

"You want me to talk and as soon as I tell you what you want to know you're going to kill me. And if I don't say a thing, eventually you're going to kill me anyway."

"You understand perfectly." There was wry approval in Vincente's voice. "Then let us begin."

Rusty knew to keep his mouth closed and his teeth clenched. Even so, the hard plastic being thrust against his lips took him by surprise. He gritted his teeth and heard Vincente laugh.

"It's not an option, Mr Ryan."

Sudden searing pain hit his shoulder and he gasped reflexively. Immediately, the plastic was forced in between his teeth and down over his tongue to the back of his throat and he tasted stagnant and bitter and didn't want to think about when or for what the funnel had last been used. He tried to twist his head to dislodge it but Vincente held it firmly in place.

There was a half-second where nothing happened. And then the water came.

* * *

The water had been constant and relentless and he'd had to swallow, had to, had to, and he was desperate for air and the pressure in his lungs was burning like the worst kind of pain and the water was forcing its way into his stomach and it was never stopping, never ending and he needed to breathe, he needed to breathe and he tried to gasp for air but there was only implacable water and he couldn't draw breath and he needed air, he needed to breathe and still the water came and that was all there was, and now he was kicking and twisting and fighting and there was no give in anything and his head was spinning with the pressure and he needed to breathe, he had to have air, he had to, he had to, he had to…

Abruptly, the funnel was removed, water flooding over the bandages on his face. Rusty took an enormous gulp of life and then twisted his head and promptly threw up, watery acid everywhere. As he lay there, hoarsely gasping, he heard Vincente.

"Are you ready to talk, Mr Ryan?"

"Always happy to have a chat, Vincente," he managed. "Who's your tip for the Oscars this year? Personally, I've never got over Morgan losing out-"

And then he felt the hateful tube pushing up against his lips, cutting in to his lips, pushing against his teeth, cutting the edge of his gums, and he tried so hard to fight it but it was Vincente at the other end and this was only going one way.

For a moment, the funnel was all there was and with wet bandages clinging to his face, blocking his nostrils, sticking to his eyes, Rusty drew in deep breath after deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, never knowing when Vincente would start again. And then the water came.

* * *

"This would be easier, you know, if I pulled out your two front teeth."

Rusty clenched his jaw and tried to keep the funnel out though he could taste the blood and imagine the mess his mouth was in.

"Easier but, actually, I'm enjoying the contest. And that would seem a little like cheating."

The funnel forced its way in. And then the water came.

* * *

Rusty's insides ached. Swallowing the volumes of water was painful in the extreme. He felt his stomach distend each time and then the vomiting _hurt_. When he wasn't automatically sick, Vincente delivered hard blows to his abdomen which forced the water up and out. That wasn't the worst. The worst and scariest feeling was when he wanted to heave before the water stopped making its way down his throat and his body spasmed with the conflicting demands put on it. And when it came, he could not gauge how long the water lasted. All sense of time was suspended. All there was was the need to breathe; the need to breathe and the water.

He gulped the air down the funnel and heard Vincente say:

"One of my most effective methods, Mr Ryan. Slow suffocation. Controlled death, if you will."

That about had it. Vincente playing God and granting him life or leaving him to die.

"How are the bandages, by the way?" Casual and anything but.

_The bandages…?_

"Tight enough for you?"

They were tight across his face. In fact, they were feeling tighter and warmer and…harder? Rusty froze. His thoughts went in a reluctant direction. Surely not...surely, surely not…

"Plaster of Paris, Mr Ryan. A little bit of art all of my own."

And that was when the silent tears started. And then the water came.

* * *

The tears were flowing under the hardening bandage and Rusty was trying his best to control the sob that was threatening to emerge.

"Anything you'd like to tell me?"

"How d'you fancy the states in alphabetical order? Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas-"

The funnel was pushed back into place.

"Do be sure to let me know when you reach Wyoming, Mr Ryan. I'm afraid I won't be able to hear you."

And then the water came.

* * *

His throat burned with the acid and his body ached with the effort of regurgitation. He kept retching although there really couldn't be anything else to bring up.

"You are such a stubborn man, Mr Ryan," Vincente said matter-of-factly. "Stubborn as a jackass."

"I prefer crazy like a fox," Rusty rasped.

"Last chance."

Rusty swallowed painfully, his head pounding, pain raging through his body. There were rope burns where he'd fought against his bonds. There were bruises where Vincente had punched him. His shoulder throbbed. His mouth was so sore. He didn't want to think about the plaster solidifying around his face. And the thing was, he was never going to tell Vincente whom the text message had come from.

He smiled without humour. "Go for it."


	30. Break

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: owning nothing of an Ocean's nature.

A/N: Thirty chapters? That can't be right. This was only ever supposed to be seven chapters long.

Chapter Thirty: Break

* * *

Danny rubbed his hand over his face and pushed the tiredness away. Time to sleep later. Time to rest later. He shook himself and splashed water on his cheeks and stared in the mirror and cursed the useless, helpless man staring back at him.

It was early morning. About six hours since Vincente had tried to kill Rusty. Six hours since, with trembling fingers, he'd sent the text message to his old phone and waited and waited and wondered and prayed and there'd been the period of uncertainty when they hadn't known but they'd hoped.

It was two hours since they'd heard the sound of someone throwing up and then a terse "Thanks" which he knew was from Rusty and ridiculous relief had flooded through all of them.

"He's alive!" Turk had punched Linus's arm and Linus grinned at him even as he rubbed his shoulder.

Saul had sat back in his chair and met Danny's gaze and the pair of them waited: then they'd heard Vincente and Saul had winced and Danny had closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. They'd listened to faint little moans as Rusty had passed in and out of consciousness and Danny had buried his chin in his hand and stifled the fear that was eating him alive.

True to his word, Livingston had diligently run the recording of Rusty's encounter with Vincente through the sound filters and separated the layers and played them individually. They could hear the bar and the people: they could pick up the footsteps falling on the pavement outside the bar: they could listen to Rusty's forced breaths as he'd tried to get away from Vincente: they could identify the ocean roaring to shore: they could imagine the journey from the water to the villa. All of it in crystal clear sound. None of it helped. There were no names mentioned. There was nothing to distinguish the bar or the route or the beach. And the sense of futility both in L.A. and Rio was tangible.

They were back to waiting. Waiting to be furnished with some clue. In the meantime, Santos had been busy with the map marking up likely locations for the villa. _Pitiful, _Saul's eyes told Danny and Danny agreed whole-heartedly.

Danny continued to stare at his reflection. He'd saved Rusty from drowning for what? Because he knew Vincente's next step would be to try and find out who had sent that message. And Danny just knew he wasn't going to be asking politely.

Useless and helpless. And he didn't want to add hopeless to the list.

There was a knock on the bathroom door and he took a breath, curbed the emotion that was close to surfacing and opened it. It was Saul.

"Santos and I are going to get breakfast in for everyone."

Breakfast. Danny tried to imagine doing something as normal as eating breakfast when somewhere Rusty was seconds, minutes, hours away from dying.

"Come with us, Danny."

He opened his mouth to object but Saul went on, "You haven't slept and you need a break. Someone will phone you if they get anything. You know they will."

No one had slept, he wanted to argue. The others had dozed a little but no one had slept. And he could picture the scene in L.A. where everyone was clustered around Livingston waiting for him to weave some magic. It really was unfair how desperately they were depending on Livingston. Unfair but inevitable. Because Livingston was all they had. And part of Danny wanted to commiserate with Livingston and still a part of him wanted to shake him hard until he found Rusty.

"Daniel." Saul was waiting.

He sighed and nodded. He'd go.

* * *

Outside, it was shaping up to be a bright Rio morning. People in the street were either on their way to work for the day or on their way back home from the night.

Danny didn't see anyone he walked by. He moved through the crowded pavement on autopilot, swerving his body effortlessly. Saul and Santos were slightly ahead of him and his eyes never left Saul's shoulder as he followed, his mind occupied with the image of Rusty, fading in and out. And what was Vincente doing all the while? Sitting and watching and planning how best to break him, no doubt. And no doubt Vincente had some effective ideas on that score.

He became dimly aware of someone calling behind him and then a hand was laid on his sleeve and he turned to see the Smile, beaming brightly as ever. The Smile spoke less English than the Moustache but he spoke enough. And Danny reached out and clutched his arms then turned and shouted after Saul and Santos.

* * *

Linus was hungry. Rusty was missing but his stomach didn't seem to care. He'd volunteered to go with Saul and Santos to find breakfast but Saul had shaken his head at him.

"It'll do Danny good to get out of here for a bit," he'd said and Linus supposed he was right. Rusty was Rusty and sitting and waiting and listening was bad enough for any of them but for Danny it had to be just the worst.

Still, he was hungry. And he found himself looking at the door and guiltily hoping that the others would return soon with something delicious and hot. Then he could forget about the hunger and focus on the worry.

"I'm starving," Turk announced and Linus didn't feel so bad.

"It feels wrong," Turk went on.

"It does," Linus agreed with a sigh then he rooted through the cupboards and found a bag of tortilla chips. They sat on the couch, sharing them.

"Do you think we're going to…" Turk broke off and then shook his head.

"If we don't…" Linus put the tortilla chip down.

"Saul says we have to."

"Saul's about right."

Turk pushed the tortilla chips away. Neither of them found themselves that hungry after all.

* * *

The door opened sooner than Linus thought it would and Santos stood there. With the Smile. Linus blinked a little. In spite of Danny's explanation, the Smile was still disconcerting. The pair of them edged into the room, Saul and Danny behind them.

"Linus, your friend here has some important information regarding Rusty," Santos announced.

"He does?" Linus exclaimed.

"Yeah," Santos nodded solemnly. "But you're gonna have to sleep with him."

Linus's eyes shot wide open and he looked at Santos and then Danny in horror.

Santos roared with laughter. "You're right," he said to Danny. "That was funny."

Danny was smiling for the first time in the longest time. "His sister works in a bar – the bar – and she recognised Rusty's description."

"C'mon!" Turk grabbed his coat and pushed Linus's into his hand. "You told Livingston, right?"

"We most certainly have," Saul nodded.

* * *

Livingston had done something Linus had labelled "Livingstony". Each of them only needed the one phone to talk to LA and to listen at the same time to whatever was going on with Rusty and Vincente. As they walked through the streets of Rio, always Danny and always Saul and sometimes Linus and sometimes Turk and never Santos or the Smile had their phone clamped to their ear.

The Smile's sister was not up. With reluctance, she opened the door to her flat, a bathrobe wrapped round her, her hair all over the place, no make-up, and found herself confronted by her brother and five men. She swore violently and gesticulated at the Smile who made calming gestures and muttered at her. Her eyes ran over Santos, Saul, Turk, Linus and Danny and stayed on Danny. A smile wrapped itself around her face and she turned from tigress to kitten in seconds.

Santos asked a question and she answered, eyes on Danny, her voice full of flirt.

"An Americano with bleached blond hair and a mess of a beard has been hitting the bar where she works for the last week," Santos translated. "He was in last night."

He checked something with her and then went on, "He left in the company of another Americano. One she's seen in there a couple of times before. One who has grey eyes that are cold as a barrel full of ice."

That was enough for Danny.

"The bar, Santos. Where is the bar?"

* * *

They left the Smile at his sister's and made the bar in record time. Danny stared at the shuttered front and then spun on his heel. His eyes roamed over the street and he thought about the sequence that was firm in his head. Vincente and Rusty had come out of noise of the bar and had walked but a little way before they'd met company. There was a corner where a few men in brightly coloured clothes were clustered. Well, that looked promising. He walked straight forward and paused, ignoring the wolf-whistles.

"What's he doing?" Santos asked curiously as Linus edged closer to Turk.

"Living it," Saul said.

Vincente had said something about a short cut. And they'd been confronted by two men who'd lain in wait…that suggested some place dark and secretive and out of the way… Danny saw the alleyway and moved.

As the others followed, Livingston's voice flared up in Danny's ear.

"Danny, you need to listen…"

"_Alright, Mr Ryan. I really, really don't have time for fun and games."_

Vincente's voice. And then Rusty's. And Danny stopped and leant a hand up against the alley wall and closed his eyes as he heard their conversation. He couldn't listen to Rusty suffering at Vincente's hands again. He couldn't.

_You're going to have to. And you're going to need to make sure you stop it._

He hurried down the alleyway, not even bothering to check that the others were following, not even stopping when he passed the bodies.

* * *

Santos was on the phone to Miguel to report the deaths.

"And you need to meet us with some men, Miguel. Looks like we're headed towards the new run of villas we nearly invested in. Yeah, those. OK."

Danny was still in front, moving swiftly ahead of them. Santos turned to Saul, panting alongside to keep up.

"You OK?"

"I'll manage. You make sure you keep Danny in your sights. All of you. He's liable to do something stupid otherwise."

"You sure, Saul?" Linus asked.

"I'm positive," Saul said, answering the wrong question. "Get after him."

* * *

Danny emerged from the alley as Rusty attempted to run and he paused for a heart-in-the-mouth moment to listen as Vincente stopped him and put him under.

"Ten minutes," he said tersely to Turk who was the first to appear at his shoulder. "We've got ten minutes."

"I think I know the stretch of villas he is hiding in," Santos said, arriving in time to hear Danny's last sentence and adding apologetically, "they're just over twenty minutes from here."

* * *

Two cars had squealed to a halt in front of them as they ran across the promenade and Miguel emerged from one of them. Danny looked like he wasn't going to stop but Turk who was nearest caught his arm and muttered, "We need these guys".

"What's happening?" Miguel asked Santos.

"We got a lead. Looks like the-"

"- yeah, you said." Miguel looked at the strain on Danny's face. "What else?"

"Our friend has woken up," Saul said, arriving, breathing heavily. "And that isn't good."

"We have to move," Danny said and the plea was overt. In his ear, he could hear _"It's not an option, Mr Ryan"_ and a sharp gasp of pain from Rusty and running water. God, running water. Eddie Lavelle flashed through his mind and he grimaced.

"OK. We need to go on foot from here anyway." Miguel gestured and his men emerged from the two cars.

"This way."

* * *

By the time they'd reached the first villa, Danny was dying inside. He'd heard the struggles that he knew Rusty was never going to win; he'd heard Rusty as defiant and stubborn as ever; he'd heard Vincente say _"This would be easier, you know, if I pulled out your front two teeth"; _he'd heard Rusty throwing up; he'd heard flesh being punched and he had an image in his head that he really didn't want to be there.

"Danny…?"

It was Livingston. Danny had almost forgotten the others in L.A.. He pictured each of them, each of their faces, sitting and listening…he swallowed.

"Yeah, Livingston."

"Their phones are still on," Livingston said with a note of triumph and anticipation. "You get close enough and I can pinpoint them."

Before Danny could say anything, Vincente was speaking again.

"_One of my most effective methods, Mr Ryan. Slow suffocation. Controlled death, if you will."_

Danny said nothing for a moment as the conflicting joy and terror ran through his bones. Then he frowned. Something had happened…

"Danny! Danny, the sound's gone!"

"What?"

Livingston sounded wildly worried. "The phone's still switched on but the sound's dropped out!"

"Get them back, Livingston!"

There was a pause and then Livingston sighed.

"I think the phones are in Vincente's jacket and he's taken it off. Bundled it up somewhere. It's too far away from both of them to pick them up."

Danny couldn't stop the groan. If it was agony listening to the torture, it was worse not being able to listen to it.

"You're very near," Livingston said and the nerves and anxiety were gone and all there was was the technical and the knowledge and the application.

Danny ran.


	31. Ending

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: all these chapters in and they still don't belong to me.

Chapter Thirty-one: Ending

* * *

It was a little before three in the morning L.A. time. There had been an eruption of hope as Danny had let Livingston know that they had a firm lead and Reuben had sat listening with the others first to the stream of fast and furious and female Portuguese and then as those down in Rio headed towards the bar.

His uppermost feeling was relief that they finally had something that seemed concrete to work on. And then he'd looked round the room and noticed that Tess was missing. Reuben found her standing staring out of his bedroom window at the lights in the streets below. She sensed his presence at her shoulder and turned round.

"Sorry, Reuben, I was just trying to find a quiet place."

"I understand," he said and looked at her shrewdly. "How are you holding up?"

She flashed him a quick little smile. "OK, I guess. It's all a little tense, isn't it?"

It was. He had to give her that. None of them wanted to stray far especially not now. And still all they could was sit and wait. No one was really talking either. Silence was all there was.

"Why?" Tess asked suddenly. "Danny and Rusty. Why did they ever become criminals?"

Reuben wasn't sure if he was meant to answer.

"I mean look at Rusty. He could have been a model or an actor…he's beautiful, Reuben. Anyone can see that. He could have made a fortune out of it. And it's not like he's dumb. And Danny…" she sighed. "Danny's hardly unintelligent either. And just the way he is with people…he could have gone into politics or law… Why did they go into crime when they could do anything?"

That was the problem, Reuben wanted to tell her. Together, they _could_ do anything. And the way the rest of the world made its living wasn't right for either of them. He said nothing and put his arm round her. It appeared to be the right thing to do.

"Is it always like this?" she asked in a whisper.

He wondered whether he ought to point out that this actually had started with Rusty being on the right side of the law. It didn't seem as if Tess would care greatly.

"No, no," Reuben said truthfully. "This is about as bad as it gets." He paused and then, although he was unsure it was strictly helpful, added, "Usually, it's a lot more fun."

She sighed as if she wanted to believe that.

"Have you spoken to Danny?"

"Little while ago," she replied shortly.

_She'd sat and heard Rusty find this man he'd been chasing, the man who'd hurt Danny. _

"_It took me forever to work out, you know."_

_She knows exactly what the man's talking about. The "friendship" that was so much more. And she is experiencing firsthand what it means to Rusty and what it means to Danny. _

_When she hears this man, this Vincente, talk about Danny and about what he'd done to Danny and how Danny had acted, it twists her up inside; especially "He didn't beg or plead or cry or scream"._

_Then had come the slowly dawning horror of what was happening with Rusty._

"_What's Rohypnol?" Virgil had asked a moment before she was about to and first Yen and then Basher had explained. _

_The look on the others' faces, tense and wide-eyed, as Rusty was led away. And Danny's voice over the top of it all, the "Please, Livingston" which hurt so much to listen to. _

"_Is he safe?" she'd asked when they'd heard the splashes and everyone had exchanged glances before Reuben had said, "We can hope"._

_There'd been hours of nothing before they'd heard Rusty speak and known he was OK. _

"_That's good, right?" she'd whispered to Basher who was sitting alongside her._

_Basher had sighed. "Yes and no…" and she'd shrunk down into the chair._

_She didn't want to call Danny and get in the way but after a while she could stand it no longer. She had to speak to him. Livingston made the line private and she'd disappeared into their room._

"_Danny? I…I've been listening…oh, God, Danny!"_

"_Tess…" _

_There was a pause and she imagined him walking into another room. She heard her name in his mouth again and __he sounded painfully weary as if he couldn't even bring himself to offer proper comfort._

"_I'm so sorry, Danny. Rusty…that man was going to…oh, Danny! I'm so sorry!" _

_The tears ran down her cheeks and she wasn't even certain what she was apologising for. There was silence for a moment and then Danny spoke. And it was the first time she'd ever heard him talk to her in this way._

"_It's not looking great, Tess. We've got miles of beach and God knows how many villas. They could be anywhere." _

_She hated that he sounded so drained and so vulnerable. _

"_I…I can't bear it," he whispered. "He's going to die because of me. And all I can do is listen to it happen."_

_She listened to him breathing heavily and swallowing the tears and couldn't think of a thing to say. Except that Saul had been right back at the hospital._

"_This man…Vincente…he knows what he's doing. I mean Rusty's been through some tough rides and been in some hard places before. But Vincente is just..." _

_She realised she'd stopped crying._

"_You'll find him, Danny, I know you will."_

"_I will, Tess, and I hope you understand that I need to. I honestly have to."_

_Of course she knew. She'd sent him to Rio, hadn't she?_

"_I can't even promise you that I know which way it would go. I just have to try. I am sorry."_

_And that was when she understood him and shock gripped her and pushed her into speechlessness._

"_I love you so very much, Tess." _

_His voice was warm and tender and she could picture the look in his eyes that made her melt._

"_I love you best I think in the morning. When you lie beside me and you wake up and your hair's everywhere and your eyes aren't fully awake… You're just irresistible then, you know."_

"_Danny…" She forced herself to say something._

"_Tess, you're going to need to be brave. Can you be brave for me?"_

_Could she? Oh, God, she had to be._

"_Yes, Danny." And her voice was strong and loving and she knew that he needed to hear the strength and the love. "I can be brave."_

"_That's my girl, Tess. I'm going to go and freshen up."_

_And he'd hung up. She'd looked down at the phone in her hand turn more and more blurry._

Reuben felt her arms go round him and hug him. He'd promised Danny he'd look after her. And he knew that if necessary that meant long-term as well as short-term.

"Hey!" Virgil stuck his head round the door. "Rusty's waking up!"

They'd gone to join the others. And while he hadn't wanted to understand exactly what was happening the other end of the phone line, Reuben had understood enough. He'd glanced over at Tess and while she looked as if she really hadn't got that much of an idea of exactly what was happening, she could certainly hear the pain and the suffering and the unblinking whiteness of her face was awful. Reuben wanted to hug her all over again.

* * *

The villas were made for the well-to-do to relax in and enjoy themselves. They were next to each other but not on top of each other and that meant more ground to cover but made Livingston's job easier.

"You're there!" Livingston said excitedly. "You're there!"

A few paces ahead of the others, Danny skidded to a halt and stared at the villa. He'd broken into flats and houses and banks and jewellers and museums and casinos and vaults but suddenly this was the most important building in the world.

"Thank you, Livingston," he said, the emotion rich in his voice and pocketed the phone.

As he started to move forward, the first of the others who happened to be Miguel arrived.

"I don't want any civilians hurt," Miguel instructed, pulling Danny back with a strong hand. "My men are going in first."

Danny knocked his hand away but Miguel grabbed him again.

"I can arrest you here and now," he warned. "I can handcuff you and march you off and by the time I get back here, this Vincente may be a little bit gone and your friend may be a little bit dead."

He meant it. Danny could tell. Somewhere, he could see Saul's face, silently talking him back from the edge and he fought with himself for a moment and then relaxed in Miguel's grip.

"OK," Danny whispered. "Please, just…"

Miguel nodded. "You wait here."

Danny looked at him. _Like that would be happening._

It seemed that Miguel could read Danny.

"Alright," he sighed. He looked round at the others who had appeared. "You and only you come with me. And I promise I will shoot you myself if you get in the way. Are we clear?"

Privately, Danny thought that if Miguel got in his way, he'd be committing a little violence of his own.

"This is it?" Turk asked.

"This is it," Linus confirmed.

And Saul closed his eyes in silent prayer.

* * *

Miguel sent four men around the back and he and two others moved towards the front door of the property with Danny. It all seemed to be moving far too slowly for Danny's liking. His instinct was to charge straight in and it was currently demanding the reason why he was waiting. His logic was busy arguing with his instinct that Miguel and his men had guns and were better placed to take Vincente out. Instinct wanted to know why he didn't just grab a gun and make a move. And logic had no answer to that. Danny's eyes fell on the gun in Miguel's hand and he started to reach for it.

"Don't make me regret bringing you," Miguel said warningly to Danny. "Stay here and let me and my men do our job."

"I have to…" Danny couldn't get the words out because yards...maybe just feet away, he might be losing him, right now, and it was unspeakable agony.

"Trust me," Miguel said and Danny found himself looking into brown eyes that promised him he knew what he was doing.

_OK…_

Miguel nodded and scooted up to the front window, peering in. He jerked his head and his other officers moved forward to his side, guns drawn. Miguel muttered something low into his radio and then all hell broke loose. Doors were stove in, there was shouting and chaos as Miguel and his men moved inside.

Danny gave them five seconds. Five whole seconds. And he prayed that wasn't too long because if it was, he would never forgive himself.

* * *

"You know what I can't understand, Mr Ryan? Why you didn't just go along with what I asked of you. Because sure, I understand you may not agree with certain aspects but you are above everything such a practical person."

Well, Vincente was never going to get the why for that one. Not even if Rusty felt like telling him which he didn't.

He felt the edge of the funnel pushed hard up against his lips. Lips that felt so raw. He tasted the blood in his mouth again and yet again tried to prepare himself for the onslaught. The trouble was this was not like any other pain where he could take himself away. This came down to the water and the need to breathe. There was nothing else to occupy his brain once the water started flooding in to him.

Vincente pushed the funnel in place and used all his strength to hold it there. Rusty could hear the slight change in the running water that meant the jug was nearly full. He breathed through the funnel and waited for the water to arrive.

"I think this will be it, Mr Ryan," Vincente announced. "If I can't persuade you to share the information, then I need to assume the worst. And I have already lost a good few hours' lead. It's been interesting to know you. Really it has. You have enriched my experience in life."

Rusty was wondering if this wasn't one of the better ways to go. At least it would be quick. He sucked up lungfuls of air and then the water came.

It was steady and unstoppable and he was weaker now than when it had started but the urge to fight, even if this was the very end, was something he could never change in himself. He felt his reservoir of oxygen begin to run low and he started to twist and turn to try and shift the damn funnel. It wasn't moving. He knew it wasn't moving. But if he could just move it…if Vincente could just…because now, it was getting desperate. Now, he needed to breathe. Now, he needed air. Had to have air. Had to breathe. Had to, had to, had to…and surely about now was the time when the water stopped and Vincente took the funnel away and he was allowed to breathe, allowed to live…but still the water came and as he kicked and struggled, part of him knew this was longer, this was surely longer than it had been and maybe Vincente really meant it and this was the end, this was death and no more of anything and anyone…and any one…and any…_Danny…_

Suddenly, the pressure on the funnel disappeared though it was still in his mouth and even as he was speculating on what game Vincente was playing now, he took the opportunity to turn his head and dislodge the funnel so that it fell to the floor and he could breathe again, could live again, live a little longer…

And there was noise and voices and a struggle and grunts of pain and guns being cocked and… "Alive!" he heard in Portuguese, "Keep him alive!" and as he threw up, the noise and the voices disappeared and he was left alone and wondering.

* * *

Five seconds up, Danny ran towards the house. He reached the front doorway before he was bundled backwards by Miguel's men, dragging Vincente out, his hands cuffed in front of him. Vincente looked up at Danny with incredulity and then he nodded to himself with quiet understanding.

"You know, if you want something doing, you just have to do it yourself," he said.

Danny didn't have time to waste on him. Not at that moment. He pushed past Miguel's men and into the villa, moving through the front room and stopped dead, taking in the horror of the breakfast bar and the large spoon, its handle lying on a tea-towel, its bowl being licked by the gentle flames of the hob and the ropes and the sight and the smell of the copious vomit and the funnel on the floor and the jug on the side and the tap running relentlessly and Rusty… Rusty… _Rusty.._. bound and naked and rope marks on his skin and bruises on his stomach and an angry burn on his shoulder and blood, so much blood and shredded skin and bruising round his mouth and bandages around his eyes… He stopped dead and took it all in in a second and the next second, he was moving and running up the kitchen steps and he was there.

"Rus…" He put a hand up under Rusty's jaw, the beard roughly smooth against his fingers and rubbed his cheek lightly with his thumb, avoiding the mess that was Rusty's mouth. "I'm here."

"Danny…" It was part-choke and part-relief and part-fear. And the fear wasn't for Rusty himself. "Vincente…?"

"Vincente's gone," Danny said quickly. "It's safe." _You're safe. We're safe._

Rusty gave a little faltering breath and Danny read how close it had all been. Miguel appeared behind him and Danny looked over his shoulder.

"I'm going to get him out of here. Can you tell the others he's OK and to give us a minute?"

Miguel nodded and vanished.

Danny rifled through the drawers, looking wildly for a knife. Grabbing the biggest, meanest one he could find, he sawed through the rope around Rusty's hands and tried not to look too closely at what the rope had done to his wrists. He turned his attention to the other knots and finally pulled Rusty free and sat him up, away from the trails of vomit around his head. Danny put his hands up to the white bandage covering Rusty's face and swore as he realised what it was. He ran his hands round Rusty's head.

"It isn't solid at the back, Rus. I can cut through it."

"Watch the hair," Rusty's voice scraped in his throat.

"Don't tempt me."

Strong blades scissored their way through the bandages.

"OK. Swing your legs round this way to face me."

Rusty did so and Danny hesitated for a moment. "This is going to hurt…"

Laughter ripped hollowly from Rusty and Danny didn't need to see Rusty's eyes to read the _I think I can handle it. _The mask came free pulling with it some hair, some eyebrow and some eyelash. Danny looked at Rusty's face, at Rusty's eyes, blinking at him: the pain and the awfulness and the fear of it all just a layer away. He looked at the blood and the marks around Rusty's mouth and swallowed, picturing the struggle, Rusty fighting as only he could and Vincente, inexorable and unrelenting. There were many things he could say. Many things he didn't need to.

He settled for "You need a shave".

Rusty grinned and his mouth started slowly bleeding. He wiped the blood away absentmindedly.

"Did you get shorter while I was gone?"

"I think you'll find the breakfast bar adds inches."

Rusty shook his head. "That's what you say."

"Stay put. I'll find you something to wear."

Rusty looked down at himself. "I need to go wash up, Danny."

"You need the hospital, Rus," he said firmly, ignoring the exasperated noise he got by way of reply. He was not in the mood to take any nonsense.

He found Rusty's clothes piled neatly in a corner and headed back to Rusty who was staring at the hob.

"A spoon…" he said wonderingly. "Who uses a spoon?"

"Alan Rickman," Danny pointed out, turning the gas off.

_True._

"You know the advantage of not being able to breathe through your nose?" Rusty asked as Danny rinsed out a dishcloth and wiped around Rusty's neck then dabbed the worst of the blood away from round Rusty's mouth. Without waiting for the answer, he added, "Not being able to smell."

"I can see how that would be a plus point." Danny put the cloth down and studied him. "We need to get you checked out."

"I'm really fine," Rusty said, shaking his head at Danny's face and struggling into his shirt.

"It's not up for argument."

Rusty changed the subject. "Can I ask how?"

"The short version is luck, Livingston and Linus."

"Huh. Look forward to the long version."

Rusty made to jump down to the kitchen floor but his legs gave way and he fell against Danny who grabbed him to him. They hung for a moment, heads together, hands on arms, fingers clutching tightly.

Then Rusty said, "This may be illegal in Rio."

_Unlikely._

"If I take my hands away are you going to hit the deck?"

_Possibly._

They looked at each other for a long moment.

_I got you._

_I like that you do._

"Let's finish getting you dressed before Linus and Turk see you."

"Linus and Turk? I'm surprised they aren't in here already."

"Saul," Danny said as if it explained everything. And it did.

Between them, Rusty found his way in to the rest of his clothes.

"Well?"

Rusty stood still for Danny to inspect him. Danny looked him over. You could no longer see the bruises or the burn and the rope marks were hidden. Rusty's skin was a little rough where the plaster had been but nothing too much. But Rusty's mouth…oh, Rusty's mouth…

"Not going to hide it, am I?"

"Not a chance."

Rusty sighed. "I don't like to share."

"Actually…" Danny was almost apologetic.

"What?"

Danny turned round looking for something and finding it. He delved into pockets and produced two phones.

"Yours, I believe."

Rusty frowned at it, remembering. "Trophies…but not trophies…"

"Because he isn't into trophies."

Rusty stared at him and blinked heavily and then looked back at the phone.

"You're transmitting all the way to L.A.," Danny said by way of explanation and also warning.

_Oh, but that means…_

_Yeah._

_Everyone?_

"Even Tess."

Rusty's face briefly creased in annoyance and then settled into resignation.

"Livingston?" he said experimentally and then held the phone out so that Danny could hear the whoops and cheers and applause.

"Rusty!" Livingston sounded as if he wanted to burst into tears. "I'm so pleased you're alright!"

"Me too. Thanks, Livingston. Catch up with you later."

He ended the call and Danny looked at him.

"You ready?"

"Let's do it."

They walked down through the front room, Danny's hand casually around Rusty's elbow. And then as they emerged blinking into the bright Rio sunlight, they met Saul and Linus and Turk. And while Turk and Linus looked as if they weren't sure whether they were going to laugh or cry, Rusty stood in front of Saul and Danny saw the unspoken that was all about apology and _I had to _on one side and understanding and relief on the other.

"Rusty, your mouth is…" Linus began and then shut up.

Rusty started smiling and bleeding again. "It was this or the collagen implants."

"Where's Vincente?" Danny asked Santos who had hung back a little.

"In a prison cell by now."

"Rusty, this is Santos…I don't know your last name," Danny confessed.

"Diaz. Santos Diaz."

"Thanks. Santos and his son and his brother helped us find you. And for that, we owe you," Danny addressed the last to Santos who shrugged and smiled.

"Thank you," Rusty said, adding, "And we believe in honouring our debts."

* * *

The attack at the villa had been sudden and unexpected and for once, he had been caught completely unawares. And as he had been in the process of watching the life drain away from Ryan, he had been more than a little slow to react. He'd gotten a good couple of blows in. One of the policemen would be nursing a broken rib or two and another had had his cheekbone fractured. But he was in the worst place to try and fight: cornered in a kitchen with no exits and he'd simply been overwhelmed.

The journey to the police station had been uneventful but he had hopes that once he got the police chief on his own, he might be able to persuade him to an outcome they would both be happy with.

"What I like about this world," Vincente said as an opening gambit as he was escorted, still in handcuffs, down the corridor, "is what money can buy."

"It can buy plenty, Senhor," Miguel assured him and as he showed him in to the cell, Vincente saw exactly what he meant.

"Hello, Vincente."

"Nicholas." Vincente shook his head and sighed. "I thought you'd retired."

"Oh, I did." The man with the silver hair and the silver-topped cane smiled. "It's surprising what can tempt a man back."

"Speaking of which…?"

"Sorry," Nicholas said gently and finally.

Vincente nodded. It had been worth a shot.

"They've offered me more if you suffer," Nicholas remarked.

"I see."

"But actually, I don't need the money that much."

"Thank you," said Vincente sincerely. He thought for a moment. "Do I have the opportunity to put my affairs in order?"

"Yes. I think that will be permitted."

Vincente looked down at the handcuffs and Nicholas shook his head.

"Too many men have underestimated you, Vincente. I am not one of them."

* * *

Reluctantly, Rusty had submitted to Danny's insistence that he be examined by a doctor and had been ordered to immediate bed rest with nil by mouth for 48 hours until his body had moved further along the way to recovery. 48 hours before they would let Rusty fly back to L.A. where Turk and Linus were headed and where Saul had been persuaded to go only on the understanding that Danny and Rusty were not planning on any more escapades.

"Nil by mouth!" Rusty had grumbled all the way to the private room.

"You listen to what the nice doctor has to say," Danny advised.

Rusty had showered and now lay on the bed having a drip inserted in his arm by a dark haired nurse with dancing eyes.

"This isn't really necessary," he tried to argue with full dazzle as Danny rolled his eyes.

Immune to the Rusty charm, the nurse laughed and continued in her task.

"Get used to it, Rus," Danny advised.

"But no food!" Rusty complained. "That's just so wrong!"

Danny looked at the huge box of chocolates on the side that Saul had found and his mouth twitched.

_Quit griping._

Rusty scowled at him.

* * *

It was later. Rusty was under the sheets, resting. Danny was lying on top of the bed. The television was playing a soap opera in Portuguese and Rusty occasionally translated for Danny's benefit. Gradually, he spoke less and his eyes kept closing. Then he turned towards Danny and made himself comfortable, burrowing in to Danny's side.

Danny gave it a moment or two till he was certain Rusty was pretty much gone and then he reached over carefully so as not to disturb Rusty, and picked up the box off the side.

"You are an idiot," Danny said softly, looking down at Rusty. He turned his attention to the chocolates and his hand hovered over the strawberry crème.

"Not that one."

He looked down sharply at Rusty whose eyes were still closed but who had a smile forming on his face.

"You sure?" Danny asked. "Because I could describe it to you."

Rusty's eyes half-opened. "You have a really mean streak, you know that?"

"Get some sleep."

_You're not leaving._

_Never._

"Mmph."

_The mean streak and I will still be here when you wake up._

* * *

Ana-Luisa pushed open the door to the private room and stopped in her tracks.

The blond patient was lying in his friend's arms: they were both sound asleep. The beard aside, the remains of strain on his face aside, the angry gash that was his mouth aside, the blond was gorgeous. His "friend" – and she understood at once why the nurse she'd taken over on shift from had put that word in inverted commas – was dark and handsome. What a waste for womankind, she thought.

Ana-Luisa hesitated. She was supposed to take the patient's temperature; just an ordinary and routine check. He looked so peaceful though. They both did. And she really didn't want to disturb. She backed out of the room. The ordinary and the routine could wait.

* * *

A/N: Hideously long chapter and I'm sorry but I didn't think it fair to break it. And that's pretty much it apart from the inevitable epilogue.

Thank you to everyone who's read this. It's been a long journey from my original outline and I'm thrilled that people stuck with it. InSilva is off for a nice lie down.


	32. Epilogue

Justice by InSilva

Disclaimer: I'd say I own no one that you recognise but I realise that relies on me having written people you recognise. :) So I'll say no Ocean's characters are mine.

A/N: I know this has been a little time coming. For some strange reason coughTellhimcough, I didn't feel up to tackling Tess and Rusty.

Oh, and acknowledging otherhawk for quite rightly mentioning Rusty's phone bill. :)

Epilogue

* * *

Morning arrived and Danny came to, his arms still wrapped round Rusty. Rusty was already awake and staring at the ceiling.

"How long have you been up?" Danny yawned, stretching.

"Little while."

There was something in Rusty's voice. Danny straightened up and looked properly at him.

_What is it?_

Rusty let out a sigh.

"I can't remember."

Something funny died on Danny's lips as he realised what Rusty meant.

"Maybe it's better that way, Rus," he suggested gently.

Rusty looked at him.

"Maybe it isn't," he said quietly.

* * *

When he was sure the time difference was working in Livingston's favour, Danny made the call.

"Please can you play everything back, Livingston?" he asked. "From the start."

They listened together. All the way from the bar to the beach. Danny closed his eyes as the waves lapped.

"I remember that," Rusty said softly, his eyes distant. "The water…he kept his foot on my shoulder…" He didn't see Danny's lips tighten. "The rest of it…" He shook his head. "I hear my voice. I hear his. That's as far as it goes."

"Er, Danny?" Livingston said hesitantly. "Do-do you want the stuff from the villa?"

Even as Rusty screwed his face up, Danny was saying, "No, Livingston, that's fine, thank you."

He put his phone away and looked at Rusty who still seemed a million miles away.

"I'm never gonna know, am I?" he said eventually. "Firsthand, I mean." He looked up at Danny. "It just feels weird. Incomplete."

And Danny could understand how that would just eat at Rusty.

* * *

The nurse whom they had discovered was called Ana-Luisa came to check Rusty's temperature and took his pulse and blushed prettily when she picked up his wrist and he asked her in Portuguese if she thought the beard suited him.

"No, sir," she said in careful English.

Rusty ran his hand through it and shot a glance at Danny.

"Kind of got attached to it."

Danny wasn't biting.

"Fine. Keep it," he said then added to Ana-Luisa. "When he's asleep, I'm going to shave it off myself."

Ana-Luisa giggled and left.

Danny hesitated.

"You going to be OK if I step out for a bit?"

Rusty heard the less than casual note in his voice and his eyes narrowed.

"You're going to eat," he accused.

Danny looked guilty. "I only had toast for breakfast."

It had been two buttered slices delivered by a thoughtful Ana-Luisa and eaten hurriedly with Rusty's eyes watching every mouthful.

There was a definite suggestion of sulk on Rusty's face.

"I won't be long," Danny offered conciliatorily.

_I'll be timing you._

* * *

The room was empty when Danny returned.

"Rusty?"

"Bathroom."

"I've got some news. I spoke to Santos-"

He broke off as Rusty stepped out of the bathroom clean-shaven, the exposed parts of his face lighter than the rest of it. Danny winced at the other side effect of removing the beard.

"Rus…"

Rusty's fingers went up to his lips. Now the beard was gone, they seemed more raw than ever. And they'd started bleeding again.

Rusty shrugged. "Can't shave a beard without cracking lips."

Danny sighed.

"Santos," Rusty prompted, sitting down in a chair.

Reluctantly, Danny went on, "Vincente met up with a real friend of Marcello's."

_Unexpected._

"Think his brother, Miguel, had a hand in the introduction. Guess there are some perks to being police chief."

Rusty considered for a moment and Danny knew he was thinking about Vincente's fate.

"He wouldn't have come after us, anyway," Rusty said. "It wouldn't have been…"

"Sportsmanlike?" Danny suggested, none too convinced.

"Expedient."

There was a pause and then Rusty said, "We should do something nice for them."

"Yes, we should."

In addition to the favours owed. Something to show their gratitude.

"Actually, I've got an idea for Santos and his son. And I took the liberty of asking Santos for suggestions for his brother."

"What did he say?"

Danny sat down on the edge of the bed and tried not to look at Rusty's mouth.

"Miguel has a penchant for skimming a little money where he can, cutting the odd deal…"

"Anything serious?"

Danny scratched the side of his face. "Embezzlement isn't ever going to be smiled on."

"So…?"

"So, I'm thinking he'll need an escape route. To the States. Just in case."

"Hmm," Rusty nodded. "Identity."

"Yeah." There was something in Danny's voice that made Rusty look more closely at him.

"You?"

"You needn't sound so surprised."

"You? Miguel Diaz?"

"Time Tess and I moved on anyway."

"Tess is going to be Mrs Diaz? I want to be there when you tell her."

Danny grinned.

* * *

They'd spent the afternoon with a game of Risk that Danny had found in a cupboard.

"Why isn't Greenland green?" Rusty pondered.

Danny had a different question.

"Is there a reason why you are piling armies on Kamchatka?"

"I like the name."

"You do know how to play this game, Rus?"

"Just roll the dice."

After the game which Rusty had improbably (according to Danny) and naturally (according to Rusty) won, they had watched a little television.

"The A-Team in Portuguese?" Danny wondered.

"All you need to know is that George has a plan and that they're gonna need to fly somewhere."

"And that Face is going to impersonate someone-"

"-badly-"

"-oh, you're just talking with a professional eye. You need to suspend your disbelief."

"This from a man who watches heist movies and criticises-"

"-no more than you do-"

"When?"

"Italian Job."

"Oh, that was crying out for – look, it's just not professional. You don't celebrate until…you can lose the smile right now."

Danny's grin widened.

_What?_

"Cabrillo Beach."

"That doesn't count! We still got the first edition!"

"Eventually."

Discussion followed on the complications brought about by relaxing at the wrong time and having a boisterous Labrador knock a hard-won prize off a cliff wall.

* * *

"You want dinner."

"I do," Danny admitted.

Rusty looked at the drip in his arm and this time the sulk had evolved into a pout.

"It doesn't even taste nice," he said plaintively.

"It's only till tomorrow, Rusty."

"Yeah," Rusty sighed gloomily. "That's what I'm thinking."

* * *

They laid side by side on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Flights are tomorrow afternoon."

"Good." With feeling.

"Well…"

"Oh, yeah." Rusty sighed. "All of them."

"Yeah."

"And Tess."

"Yeah," Danny agreed heavily. "You know she's-"

"I can imagine."

"She really-"

"I'm sure."

"Rus…"

"It's fine." He looked at Danny. "It's always fine. You know it is."

And it was. And he knew it. And he leaned in a little closer to Rusty to show that he did.

* * *

_The next day…_

"You sure about this?"

"Stop fucking with me, Danny, and give it here."

"You want to put this in your mouth?"

"I am not asking again."

Rusty denied food and drink for two days was as ugly as it got. Sighing, Danny handed the milkshake over.

"It just looks so…pink."

"Yeah," Rusty said with relish and started sipping it.

His eyes closed and irregular, soft, little half-noises of pleasure filled the room until regretfully, he reached the end of the drink and sighed. He opened his eyes and found Danny staring at him.

_What?_

"You are the only man I know who gets a thrill like that from something like that. You should come with a rating."

"You don't like it, you can buy earplugs."

"I bought you another milkshake. Will that do?"

As Rusty drank the second drink – silently and with his eyes smiling and open wide and fixed on Danny – Danny studied him. The rest had done him good; done them both good if it came to it. They had both been stretched over the past couple of months and the recovery time had been welcome.

The bruises were healing and the burn was fading and Rusty's lips were finally crusting over. His stomach, he insisted, was ready to try solids. They were ready to go back to L.A..

"You fit?" Danny said, as Rusty drained the last pink drop.

Rusty looked at him and for a second, there was a glimpse of the physical and the mental anguish and then his face was clear and he smiled and Danny made a silent note to buy him whatever he wanted to eat and drink for the rest of the day.

* * *

It was evening when they got to the Standard. Arthur's jaw dropped as he saw Rusty's face.

"Mr Ryan! Whatever happened?"

"Little drinking contest, Arthur. Got out of hand."

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Drinking contest?" Arthur was mesmerised by Rusty's mouth.

"Yeah. Don't try the shotgun thing unless you're really not that drunk. And if you do, make sure there are no jagged edges on the can."

"OK, Mr Ryan…" Arthur looked as if he was never going to be experimenting in that way.

They headed to the lift and Arthur called after them.

"Mr Ryan? It's good to have you back."

* * *

There weren't any balloons or banners up but drinks were waiting and so was a range of food. More importantly, so was everyone.

With good grace, Rusty allowed himself to be embraced and punched on the shoulder and have his hand vigorously shaken. He smiled warmly at Tess as with eyes of guilt and regret and doing her best not to look at his lips, she placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek. If he was honest, it felt strange to have so much feeling visibly expressed.

He felt Danny hang back as others came forward and he saw Saul the other side of the room watching. He never needed it from either of them except maybe the odd occasion when he did. It was just always there, rich and flowing and bottomless.

"Rusty?" It was Livingston. "I just wanted to say-"

And he could read exactly what Livingston wanted to say. Something unnecessary about not finding him sooner.

"Livingston," he interrupted, "Danny told me what happened and I know that I wouldn't be standing here right now if it weren't for you. I'd be washed up on a shore. Thank you."

Livingston looked as if he might cry. "It was- oh, it was-"

"Well, it wasn't nothing exactly," Rusty said. "Because I do want to know what you're going to do about my phone bill."

Yen laughed and threw out a couple of comments. Rusty looked at him in disbelief.

"It's registered in Asia?"

Yen shrugged and Rusty shook his head and turned to Danny.

"We need to pull something just to cover minimum payment."

* * *

It was later. Danny and Tess had disappeared to their own suite and the others had started making farewell noises and then drifting away, just as they had from the Bellagio fountains.

Rusty was inwardly pleased to see Turk and Virgil leaving together.

"Did you give Anna-Mae a call, Turk?" he asked and noted Virgil's look of startled surprise.

Turk ran a hand through his hair sheepishly.

"I phoned her. She's hooked up with Gino." He shrugged and looked at Virgil. "Women."

"Her loss," Virgil nodded and it was Turk's turn to look surprised. "Unless, you know, she'd met you."

Turk stared at him. "You can be so hurtful."

Rusty saw Virgil blink.

"Personally, I'm just amazed you found anyone crazy enough to take _you_ on," Turk continued. "She does have regular eye exams, right?"

The bickering could still be heard from the corridor and Danny and Rusty smiled separately and together.

* * *

"I thought..."

"Yeah. I thought too. It wasn't good, Tess."

"No."

"But we're through it." _All of us._

"Yes."

And he saw how frightened she'd been and how brave she'd tried to be and was still trying to be and he kissed her long and slow and gently and they shut out the rest of the world for a while.

* * *

Eventually, it came down to Reuben – _"I need to talk to you about how you're running this place. I'm sure you can cut your overheads. You call me." –_ and Linus – _"I'm really glad you didn't-" "I am too, Linus. Thanks." – _and that left Saul.

Rusty stood in front of him and suddenly felt very young.

"Robert Charles Ryan, I am an old man," Saul began. "And I think I have grown even older these past few weeks. Jogging through the streets of Rio is a pastime I do not intend to pursue."

_Saul…_

Saul reached out and gripped Rusty's arm. "You take good care of yourself, Rusty. You hear me? Because I don't have that many good thoughts in my life that I can afford to lose you."

_Saul…I…_

"I know, I know. It was still stupid, do you hear? You think I'm young enough that I can afford to have years taken off my life?"

"Saul…"

"You make sure the next time we see each other it's less fraught."

"I'll do my best."

And Saul left him standing with a fondness on his face that was rarely openly expressed.

* * *

"Rusty…?"

It was expected and yet he couldn't avoid the inner wince. Because he was almost certain what she was going to say. He turned round to acknowledge her with a smile.

"Rusty, what I said back at the hospital-"

"It's OK, Tess," he interrupted, wanting to cut things short for her sake as well as his.

"No, it isn't." And her voice was tough and surprising and he shut up fast.

She walked forward into the room and sat on the couch.

"Please," she said.

Tess. It had taken him so long to come to terms with her. Such a long time for him, at any rate. And even though he knew it was unfair, there had been times when he'd been tempted to lay a lot at her door. Danny going to jail, for example. He knew she blamed him – still – for Danny falling off the wagon and into jail. Funnily enough, he wanted to blame her for the exact same thing. Because without her around, there would have been no temperance oath to be broken, no itch that needed to be scratched, no partner to protect, no new people to screw things up.

He was tempted to blame her but he didn't not least because it would be pointless recrimination. Danny had made choices. Choices which had felt right at the time, no doubt. And Rusty understood that Tess had had as much influence over that as he himself had.

Time after Vegas and the Benedict job had helped. Three to six months had helped. And she was asking for the chance to get them back on that footing. He guessed he could do that. He sat and she flashed him a grateful look.

"What I said to you at the hospital," she began, "about Danny being hurt because of you."

_Yeah…_

"I meant it."

Huh.

"I would never let him walk into danger," she said. "Not if I could do something to stop it."

"Well, neither would I," Rusty pointed out, keeping the amusement off his face because Tess was serious. "It's just that sometimes he has a mind of his own on these things. And sometimes these things overtake us."

_Overtake us_…that was one way of putting it.

"He'd make the same decisions where you're concerned, Tess," he went on. "He really would. And you could try and shift him but he'd refuse to be shifted and you could try to get away from him but he'd find you."

Tess stared at him. And he could see she needed a little more convincing.

"The trouble is, Tess, firstly the most trouble you're likely to be in is" _Benedict, _he thought, "a dispute with a hardware store. And secondly, Danny and I have been working like this since…forever."

"On the edge?"

"If you like," he smiled. "It's a dangerous world. We knew it when we got into it. It hasn't got any safer."

He hesitated infinitesimally because it's what he would do to sell a line and he didn't mean for things to get that blurry. He decided to do it anyway and reached out and took her hand.

"I swear to you, Tess, that Danny's life matters to me."

Her eyes fell on his newly healing lips and she swallowed.

"I guess I know that, Rusty," she said quietly and leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "About the other stuff."

Rusty sat back and looked at her.

"I'm never going to take him from you, Tess."

"I know," she smiled. "And I'm never going to take him from you."

"I know."

And Danny walked in to find them safe in their knowledge, new and old.

* * *

Santos opened the envelope. Two cadeiras perpetuas for the Maracana. Seats that could not be bought for love nor money.

Miguel opened the envelope. There was a letter and details of how he could access the US version of Miguel Diaz if he needed to.

Both brothers smiled to themselves.

* * *

_Weeks later…_

The convertible looked out of place on the street. It was not a street for convertibles. It was a street for greyness and dust and eyes kept to pavements and peeling posters in shop windows that advertised out of date sales and events. It was a street with little cheer.

Two men were leaned up against the side of the convertible staring at a parking lot. Actually, if you regularly walked down that street and bothered to take the time to notice, you would see that the blond was staring at the parking lot, staring at it as if it had some great significance: the man with the dark hair was looking at the parking lot but watching the blond.

If you had been a denizen of that neighbourhood, you might have thought back to what had been in place before the parking lot: a few shops, a diner, several unappealing flats. Perhaps, you might think, the blond remembered that time. Certainly by the way he was fixed, you'd imagine he was caught up in memory.

After a time you might have heard the dark-haired man say, "Are we done?" and the blond reply, "Yeah".

But of course if you were a local, you wouldn't bother to take the time to notice. Because everyone round there keeps themselves to themselves.

* * *

A/N: And that really is that. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed and followed. Really appreciated your company. And of course I dedicated this to otherhawk for her patience and support and general brilliance and nothing's changed. Thanks, mate.


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